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ONTWA, 

7 



SON OF THE FOREST. 



A POEM. 



" II parte ainsi au bruit de I'onde, et au milieu de toute 1; 
solitude." Chateaubriand. 



X 







NEW-YORK: ^ 
WILEY AND HALSTED, 

Office of the Literary and Scientific Repository. 

M DCCC XXII. 



.Lcj 



SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW-YORK, ss. 

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twentieth day of December, 
in the fortv-sixtb year of the Independence of the United 

(L. S.) States of America, WILEY AND HALSTED, of the said 
District, have deposited in this office the title of a book, the 
right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to 
wit: 

" Ontwa, the Son of the Forest. A Poem. ' II parle ainsi au bruit 
de I'onde, et au milieu detoute la solitude.' Chateaubriand." 

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, enti- 
tled, " An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the co- 
"pies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of 
*'■ such copies, during the time therein mentioned." And also to an 
Act, entitled, " An Act, supplementary to an Act, entitled, an Act for the 
" encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts, 
and Books, to the authors and proprietors of sucTj copies, during the 
times therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts 
of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 

JAME8 DILL, 
ClerJe of the Southern District of New-¥orh 



PKINTKD BY J. KINGSLAND AND CO., MAIDEN-LANK. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The following brief extracts contain almost the 

only historical'traces of that tribe of Indians, whose 

catastrophe suggested the principal incidents of 

Ontwa. 

" About this time (1653) the Iroquois so effectually exter- 
minated a nation called the Eries, that no traces of them 
now remain ; nor could it be known that they ever had ex- 
isted, were it not for the g-reat lake, on the borders of which 
they were situated, and which, for that reason, still bears 
their name. The Iroquois, at the beginning of the war, were 
worsted ; but they pursued it with such unrelenting fury, as 
to effect the catastrophe we have mentioned." — Wynne's 
General History of the British Empire in America, Vol. I. 
p. 334. 

" Ce fut a peu pres dans ce tems (1655) que les Iroquois 
acheverent de detruire la nation des Eriez, ou du Chat. Les 
commencements de cette guerre ne leur avoient pas e(e fa- 
vorable ; mais ils ne rebuterent point, et ils prirent a la fin 



IV ADVERTISEMENT. 

tellement le dessus, que sans le grand lac, que porte encore 
aujourd'hui le nom de cette nation, on ne sqauroit pas meme 
qu'elle eut existe." — Charlevoix, Histoire de la JVouvelle 
France, Tom. I. p. 322. 

Both these accounts leave the residence of this 
tribe somewhat indeterminate. Charlevoix, in his 
maps, places it on the south side of Lake Erie ; 
other old French maps place it on the north side, 
and even indicate the spot where the fatal battle 
was fought. The latter authority has been adopted 
in the following work — whether correctly or not, 
it is presumed to be of little consequence. The 
apparent anachronism of deciding its fate by one 
single battle, when perhaps a series of actions 
were fought, may probably be likewise thought 
as unimportant. Such a supposition better sub- 
served the purposes of poetry ; and the obscuri- 
ty of history seemed to admit of almost any lati- 
tude of conjecture. 

At the period here alluded to, the French mis- 
sionaries commenced their bold and generous pil- 
grimages among the remote tribes of the Ameri- 
can interior. It need scarcely be remarked, that 



ADVERTISEMENT. V 

it is one of those daring philanthropists, who is 
represented in the Introduction. 

With respect to the composition of Ontwa, the 
same remark may be apphed to it which Chateau- 
briand appHes to Atala, that " it was written in 
the desert, and under the huts of the savages." 
This circumstance, however, can give it no cor- 
respondent merit with that beautiful and pathetic 
little work, other than the chance of being equal- 
ly faithful in the description of aboriginal manners 
and scenes. The tradition on which the story of 
Ontwa is founded, unavoidably led to an apparent 
adoption of one of the incidents of Atala. With- 
out anticipating a charge of plagiarism, it may 
perhaps be confessed, that, in this instance, an 
attempt was made to imitate its eloquent author. 



ERRATA. 

Page 44, 1. 13— read charms instead of "charm." 

1. 14 — read harms instead of " harm." 
Page 66, note — read calm instead of " clear." 
Page 73, 1. 16 — after " And" dele comma (in some copies) 
to read, And vanquish''d, &c. 



ONTWA. 

PART I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Pilgrim from transatlantic climes, 
Of elder race and elder times, 
Where age on age had rolFd around 
In hemispheric circle bound. 
Unconscious that a sister sphere, 
Revolving through the same career 
And glowing 'neath the same bright sun, 
Had still concurrent ages run, — 

I launch' d before the western gales, 
(Dilating now a thousand sails,) 
Which, ere th' immortal Genoese 
Had dared to span unmeasured seas 
In search of worlds his mighty mind 
Alone conceived the hope to find. 
Had idly swept a rolling waste 
That pilot keel had never traced. 



No scheme sublime like his was mine — 
The balanced globe such grand design 
Excludes again — and his great name, 
That fills the younger world with fame, 
Must still unrival'd stand, till earth 
Shall to new continents give birth. 

I sought no undiscover'd shore 
Which prow had never touch'd before ; 
Nor wish'd presumptuous course to urge 
Beyond De Gama's daring verge — 
Nor yet, like Magalhaen, to run 
Still following round the setting sun, 
Till my bold keel should leave a trace 
Folding the globe in its embrace. 
No — 'twas a spirit mild and meek, 
That objects less sublime would seek : 
I sought the Indian of the wild, 
Nature's forlorn and roving child — 
Already driven, from shores afar 
Where once he bore the chase and war, 
To Western Lakes : those seas confined, 
Which ancient deluge left behind 
When the vast floodgates of the land, 
Unable longer to withstand 
The rolling waste, crumbled away 
And gave the sweeping ruin play — 



n 



Leaving the wide interior drain'd 

Save where these remnant floods remain'd. 

I ask'd the red man for my guide : 
He launch'd his hark on Erie's tide, — 
Through all the liquid chain we ran, 
O'er Huron's wave, and Michi'gan, 
Veering amid her linked isles 
Where the mechanic beaver toils, — * 
Still floating on, in easy way 
Into her deep indented Bay,t 
Through rocky isles whose bolder forms 
Are chafed and fritter' d down by storms, 
And, worn to steeps of varying shape 
That architectural orders ape, 
Show ruin'd column, arch and niche, 
And wall's dilapidated breach ; 
With ivy hanging from above. 
And plants below, that ruins love, 

* Now called the Beaver Islands — -in Lake Michi-egan, 
(or Great Lake,) as named by the natives. 

t Called Green Bay, whose mouth is almost closed by a 
chain of islands, called the Grand Traverse. Their sides are 
high, rocky, and bold; and, being- of limestone, have been worn 
into a thousand fantastic shapes, which, even without the aid 
of fancy, assume the appearances described in the text. 



12 



Drooping in melancholy grace 
On broken frize and mould'ring base ; 
While here and there, like drifts of snow, 
Amid the waves the white rocks show, 
Stripp'd of their soil and left all bare, 
As bones of islands bleaching there. 

Far up the lengthen'd bay we urge, 
To where the triple streams converge 
And on its reedy head distil 
The tribute sent from distant hill — 
Now mounting up the sinuous bed 
Of Wagouche to its marshy head. 
We toil against the foamy leaps — * 
Or wind where still the current sleeps 
Mid seas of grain, t the boon of heaven 
To steril climes in bounty given. 
At last we reach the narrow mound— - 
The wide diverging waters bound — 
Where, almost mingling as they glide 
In smooth and counter-current tide. 



* Called Saults by the inhabitants — and sometimes Chutes. 
— ' La Grande Chute' is here alluded to. — Wagouche is one 
of the Indian names for the Fox river. It receives, just as it 
falls into the head of Green Bay, the addition of two rivers. 

t The Fols-avoine — fatua avena, or wild rice, which grows 
in great abundance in the Fox river. 



13 



Two rivers turn in sever'd race, 
And flow, with still enlarging space, 
Till one rolls down beneath the north 
And pours its icy torrent forth, 
While — glowing as it hurries on — 
The other seeks a southern zone.* 
Here, as the heaven dissolves in showers, 
The boon on either stream it pours, 
And the same sunbeams, as they stray, 
On both with light impartial play ; 
But onward as each current hies, 
New climes and sunder'd tropicks rise. 
And, urging, growing, as they run, 
Each follows down a varying sun, 
Till, o'er her tepid Delta spread, 
The Michi-sipi bows her head, — 
While Lawrence vamly strives to sweep 
His gelid surface to the deep. 
Scarce did the low and slender neck 
The progress of our passage check ; 
And ere our bark — which, dripping, bore 
The marks of rival waters o'er — 



* The Portage of the Fox and Ouisconsin rivers, by which 
they are separated, is only a mile and a half. These rivers, 
thoug-h here nearly united, discharge their vi'aters into the sea 
at points between three and four thousand miles apart. 



14 



Had lost in air its humid stain, 
'Twas launch'd, and floating on again — 
Mid isles in willow'd beauty dress'd 
That deck'd Ouisconsin's yellow breast. 

The stream ran fast, and soon the scene 
Changed into frowns its smiles serene. 
Nature arose in troubled mood, 
And hills and cliffs, of aspect rude, 
Hoary with barrenness, save where 
The stunted cedar hung in air 
Fix'd in the rocks that beetled high, 
Darken'd the current rushing by— 
Oft choked and broken in its pass 
By mighty fragments' clogging mass, 
Sever'd, mayhap, by bolt of heaven, 
And down the steep in thunder driven. 

Our rapid bark, ere twice the day 
Had shone upon its downward way, 
Turn'd its light prow, in upward course, 
To stem the Michi-sipi's force — 
Where her broad wave rolls on amain, 
Sever'd by ' thousand isles' in twain, 
And giant cliffs, with threatning frown. 
Conduct her prison'd current down. 



15 



Full many a stream, on either side, 
Through the cleft walls sends forth its tide, 
Descending far from distant plains, 
Where in its gloom the Prairie reigns, 
Seated in grandeur on its throne 
Amid a desert world alone. 
Oft up the steeps, by rugged path 
Sloped by the winter torrent's wrath, 
We toil'd, where high the sumach hung. 
And tendril vines around it clung. 
Checking our way with woven bowers. 
Or twining over head their flowers ; 
While higher still, in dizzier break, 
The trembling aspen tree would shake — 
And oft the wand' ring eye would meet 
With sparkling crystals 'neath the feet, 
Rudely enchased on some dark stone 
Shining with lustre not its own. 
Hard the ascent, but fair the sight 
That spread beneath the lofty height. 
Where river, isles, and meadows drew 
Their varied pictures to the view, — 
Or would the downward eye forbear 
To dwell on scene so soft and fair, 
'Twas but to raise a level glance 
And all was rude and bold at once, 



16 



Where the dark Bluffs, half bare, half 

crown'd, 
Arose in gloomy sternness 'round. 

For many a day the stream we stemm'd. 
Through isles that still its bosom gemm'd, 
While oft, where back the cliffs retired. 
The waving plain, in green attired. 
Smiled in the dark and deep recess, 
Like guarded spot in wilderness ; 
(Where Hamadryades might sport. 
Or Fairies hold their dewy court.) 

At last our bark, mid eddies toss'd 
And foam that all the wave emboss'd, 
Was warn'd — ere yet the torrent's roar 
Was heard — to turn its keel ashore. 
Now clambering up the steep ascent, 
Our course along the brink was bent, 
Where the descending, broken flood, 
On rocks that firm its force withstood, 
Show'd signs of mightier conflict near 
Whose rumblings now rose on the ear. 

Why checks my guide on yonder rise, 
And bends to earth in mute surprise, 



17 



As the Great Spirit of the air 
Had burst upon his vision there ? 
'Twas the vast Cataract* that threw 
Its broad effulgence o'er his view, 
Like sheet of silver hung on high 
And glittering 'neath the northern sky. 
Nor think that Pilgrim eyes could dwell 
On the bright torrent as it fell, 
With soul unawed. We look'd above 
And saw the waveless channel move, 
Fill'd from the fountains of the north 
And sent through varied regions forth, 
Till, deep and broad and placid grown, 
It comes in quiet beauty down — 
Unconscious of the dizzy steep 
O'er which its current soon must sweep. 
The eye hung shudd'ring on the brink, 
As it had powerless wish to shrink, 
Then instant sunk, where mid the spray, 
All the bright sheet in ruin lay. 
The tumult swells, and on again 
The eddying waters roll amain. 



* The Falls of St. Anthony, first discovered and named 
by father Hennipen. 



Still foaming down in angry pride, 
Till mingling rivers smooth its tide. 
Nor did the isle, whose promont wedge 
Hangs on the torrent's dizzy edge. 
Escape the view ; nor sister twin 
That smiles amid the nether din — 
Closed in the raging flood's embrace, 
And free from human footstep's trace ; 
Where the proud Eagle builds his throne, 
And rules in majesty alone.* 
Approaching still, and more entranced 
As still the ling' ring step advanced, 
We stood at last in pleased delay 
O'erlooking all the bright display, 
While the gay tints of western flame 
That down the day's obliqueness came. 
On hanging sheet and level stream 
Darted a soft and slanting beam. 
While thus we paused, bent o'er a rock 
Whose tremours own'd the general shock, 
The wand'ring vision chanced to meet — 
Fix'd like a statue on its seat 



* Carver says that the small island, at the foot of these 
Falls, is inaccessible to man and beast, and that almost every 
tree upon it sustains the eyry of an eagle. 



ig 



Of jutting fragment, whither flew 
The torrent spray in silvery dew — 
An Indian form. No motion told 
That 'twas not some unbreathing mould 
Which savage chisel might have traced 
And near the sacred cascade* placed. 
We nearer drew, when clearer sight 
Truly betray'd a living wight — 
Yet lost so deep in musings wild, 
And by the torrent so beguiled, 
That scarce his breathings seem'd his own 
But motion caught from trembling stone. 
Hail'd by my guide, in well-known tongue, 
He turn'd, and back his dark locks flung, 
Raising an eye — though now sunk deep 
By woes, perhaps too strong to weep — 
That still shone forth with ray intense, 
As wont a spirit to condense. 
Whose ardent energies had felt 
All that could fire, or rend, or melt. 
Familiar speech and forest guise 
Appear'd to wake but short surprise ; 

*The Indians believe the Falls of St. Anthony to be the 
residence of the Great Spirit. 



20 



And calmly he had turn'd again 
To fall anew in musing train, 
When his fierce eye just caught the trace 
Of white man in the Pilgrim's face. 
Reviving mem'ry seem'd to read 
Some story there, of wo or dread ; 
And quickly, as his brain were fired 
With anguish that the view inspired, 
And his worn form no more could bear 
The struggles of some deep despair, 
He sunk to earth in prostrate grief 
Ere friendly arm could give relief. 

What boots it that the tale should say 
What hours or suns were pass'd away 
In soothing kindness by the guide, 
With pitying Pilgrim by his side. 
Ere that the Forest son arose 
And told his tale of many woes ? 



ONTWA. 

PART n. 

' Last of my tribe — a mighty race ! — 
My wand' ring feet have sought this place, 
Where the Great Spirit rolls his wave, 
To find a lone and sacred grave. 
Why does the welcome hour delay, 
That sends my wearied soul away ? 
When will the thund'ring waters close 
Over the last of Erie's woes, 

And waft down Ontwa to the land 
Where, risen again, the Erie band 
On brighter streams and fairer plain 
Renew the war and chase again ?* 



* The Indians have but vague notions of their posthumous 
destiny ; but as they believe the sports most valued in this life, 
such as vv'ar and the chase, are continued after death, they ge- 
nerally place their heaven either within the earth, or in some 
distant place upon it, as being better suited to such occupations 
than the undefined regions above. 



22 



There my great sire, with chiding eyes, 
Impatient turns to upper skies 
And asks the tardy hour to come, 
That brings his hng'ring offspring home. 
He counts his tribe — still misses one, 
And seeks in vain his absent son, — 
The last sad remnant of his kind, 
Condemn'd to wander yet behind. 
But oh ! a spirit still more fair 
Awaits to welcome Ontwa there, — 
Whose beauty sprung from eastern light, 
Just glitter'd on my forest sight, 
Then sunk, alas ! in sudden night. 

Why should my gloomy soul recall, 

Or Ontwa's love, or Erie's fall ? 

But 'tis my vow to bear my grief, 

Nor seek the balsam of relief: 

I've sworn to wear th' envenom'd dart 

Still rankling in my aching heart, 

And join my love on plains below, 

With all the anguish of my wo ; 

Nor bear one thought whose cheering ray 

Might gleam upon my darkling way, 

Or chance to break the sacred gloom 

That shrouds my passage to the tomb. 



23 



'Twill but revive a deeper wail, — 
Then why refuse to tell my tale ? 
Haply the shrunken cords of life — 
Too weak to bear the inward strife — 
May sever ere the tale shall close : 
Would that I thus could meet repose, 
And with one agonizing sigh 
Breathe out my many woes, and die. 

Scarce twice twelve seasons now have shed 
Their bloom, or blight, on Ontwa's head. 
My sire, Kaskaskia, reign'd supreme 
O'er all the tribes on hill and stream, 
From distant Huron's stormy shore 
To where Niag'ra's thunders roar ; 
While Erie and Ontario's wave, 
To swell his power, their tribute gave. 
And oft had borne to shores afar 
His thousand barks in daring war. 
Deep in the centre of his bands, 
On lofty height, which far commands. 
He placed his smoke,* whose rising spire 
For ever told Kaskaskia's fire. 



* A fire, or smoke, in the figurative language of the sa- 
vages, denotes a residence or settlement. 



24 



Here oft the grand debate arose 

Which doom'd the fate of neighb'ring foes ; 

And here, to warm the list'ning young 

And nerve their hearts but newly strung, 

The old, exposing all their scars. 

Would tell the tale of Erie's wars ; 

Till, like a tipp'd and feather'd dart 

Ready from bended bow to start. 

Their youthful hearts would pant to wear 

The trophied skin of elk or bear. 

And see the foe, in fancied fight, 

Already conquer'd, or in flight. 

A mighty oak, whose spreading arms 

Had stood the brunt of tempest harms 

Unnumber'd snows,* and still could bring 

Its verdant tribute to the spring. 

Upon the highest summit stood, 

A beacon midst the sea of wood ; 

Some grey and splinter'd boughs were seen 

Shooting athwart its ample green, — 

Not the hoar emblems of decay. 

But wrecks of lightning's wrathful play, 



* The savages number the lapse of years by snows, or 
winters. 



25 



Scars OQ a brow too often driven 
Against the warring powers of heaven. 
No other tree nor shrub was there ; 
The hill-top else were bleak and bare ; 
And, save the scanty moss which grew 
Beneath the shade its foliage threw, 
No green relieved the rocky waste 
Which round its brow a fillet traced, 
Like mighty band of wampum,* spread 
Around a giant's plumed head. 

Now had the hazel given its diet 
Full eighteen springs to Ontwa's eye, 
And this young arm, with growing nerve, 
Had learnt the twanging bow to serve, 
And many a deer had lent its horn 
My sportive triumphs to adorn ; 
When, mid his chiefs, I saw my sire 
Awake on high the council fire. 
And, as the dark ascending smoke 
Curl'd upwards round the lofty oak, 
He rose amid the circling crowd 
With eye severe, shook off the shroud — 

* The Wampum is made of strings of beads, which the 
Indians use for purposes of ornament, &-c. 

t The predominant colour of the Indian's eye is a dark hazel. 

4 



26 



A skin of Buffalo — that dress'd 

The broad dimension of his breast ; 

And while the hand that grasps the bow 

Braced 'round the ample folds below, 

The arm that guides the arrow hung 

All free to aid his speaking tongue. 

Ere that the deep and labouring speech, 

As slow to rise, his lips could reach, 

His lofty gesture led the eye 

To send a trembling glance on high. 

While yet, as with a powerful charm, 

Each feeling hung upon his arm, 

A mountain cloud was seen to rise 

Fast from the depths of eastern skies, 

Like mighty barrier in the way, 

Threat'ning to close the gates of day. 

Its towering peak and spreading base, 

Still roUing up the azure space. 

With fast increasing horrors grew ; 

Till half the heavens were veil'd from view, 

And day's broad eye, closed in a frown, 

No longer on the world look'd down. 

Unmoved, alone Kaskaskia stood. 

And all the spreading fury view'd 

With steady eye, while the bright glare 

Of forked lightning seam'd the air. 



27 



With voice, that still was loudly heard 
Amid the turbulence that stirr'd 
The heavens to war, he thus express'd 
The dark forebodings of his breast. 
" Three times the east, array'd in storms, 
Has fiU'd my dreams with deep alarms ; 
Three times this cloud, in vision'd wrath^ 
Has darkly cross 'd my dreaming path, 
While the Great Spirit, as it pass'd, 
Has spoke in thunders from the blast. 
Know, mighty chiefs, the hour is come 
That threatens Erie's final doom. 
The evil Manitou* this hour 
Leads hitherward a mighty power — 
A power of overwhelming might — 
Which, coming from the fount of light, 
By white man's vengeful arm oppress'd, 
Seeks out a refuge in the west. 
Great Saranac, whose skill and force 
Tower supreme like eagle's course, 
Leads on the first ; and many a band 
Is leagued beneath his strong command, — 
All sworn to quench their ancient fires 
Where sleep the ashes of their sires. 



* Manitou means Spirit, as Michi-Manitou — Great Spi- 
rit — and Kichi-Manitou, Evil Spirit. 



28 



Nor ask again the kindling sun 

Till Erie's forest shores be won. 

Already by the fav'ring wind 

They leave the Iroquois* behind, — 

And plying still the active oar, 

Sweep up Ontario's farther shore, 

Resolved to cross as soon as sight 

Shall catch the view of adverse height :t 

Perchance already o'er the lake 

Their bold and hostile course they take. 

Thus the Great Spirit, in my dreams, 
Spoke mid the stormy lightning's gleams ; 
And now again he speaks to all, 
Darkly foretelling Erie's fall. 
Yon rolling cloud, which low'ring spreads, 
Suspending ruin o'er our heads. 
Erelong will give its thunders birth, 
And bound in fury to our earth : — 
Thus Saranac with hostile bands 
Will soon descend on Erie's lands. 
But though it be the doom of Heaven, 
Shall Erie hence be tamely driven, — 



* The Indian name of the St. Lawrence. 
t From the heights of Queenston may be seen those of 
York, U. C. 



29 



Cut off from hills our sires have ranged 
Till seasons have, forgotten, changed. 
And countless snows, like marks of time, 
Have melted from their peaks sublime ? 
Shall we unstring the stubborn bow, 
And all our ancient chase forego, 
The Erie's boon since times far gone, 
When the huge mammoth, overthrown 
For proudly daring Heaven to war, 
O'er the great waters fled afar ? 
No — as this head would stand unbow'd 
Though yonder black and threatning cloud 
Should launch its heaviest bolt, and make 
This hill-top to its centre shake — 
So will Kaskaskia raise his arm 
To shield you from impending harm." 

While yet his arm, of nervous strength, 
Was raised aloft in daring length. 
The ruptured cloud sent forth a flash 
Which, ere the warning thunder's crash 
Was heard, in crackling fury broke 
On the broad frontlet of the oak. 
Prostrate the crowd in tremour sunk. 
Clinging to rocks that quaked and shrunk, 



30 



Nor saw, till from the hills around 
Echo return'd her faintest sound, 
That still Kaskaskia held his brow 
Erect beneath the awful blow : 
And though his arm, which had been raised 
Just as the vivid lightning blazed, 
Now, wither'd, by his quiver hung 
Like hunter's nervous bow unstrung ; 
Yet high was fix'd his steady eye 
On the fierce conflict of the sky. 
As he would mock, in proud despair, 
The fate proclaim' d in thunder there. 

With proud, yet pitying eye, he saw 
The crowd dejected thus with awe, 
And, half reproving, bade them rise, 
Nor sink beneath the angry skies. 
" Let not the Erie warrior droop — 
Arise, to war — with fellest whoop ! 
Speed ! Every chief his subjects wake I 
The barbed dart and war club take — 
And, on those heights which catch the ray 
Of blue Ontario's setting day. 
Collect and hold your faithful bands ; 
There wait your coming chief's commands.- 



31 



Nor will Kaskaskia's eagle plume 
Fail at the signal hour to come. 
Mean-time, from lofty capes where raves 
The whirlwind over Erie's waves, 
I'll seek, amid the howling storm, 
The Manitou's appalhng form ; 
And learn from blasts the deepest fate 
Which Erie's fortunes may await." 

He ceased — when every chief in haste 
His quiver hung, and wampum braced, 
And o'er his shoulders loosely spread 
His skin, as if for march of speed, — 
And then, like herd of scatter'd deer, 
Surprised by ambush' d hunter near, 
That bounding oflf in antler'd pride 
Flies to the wood on every side, 
They darted down the hill amain 
And soon were crossing level plain — 
Their feather'd crests, in buoyant grace, 
Dancing with every springing pace, 
Marking afar their various ways 

Till lost within the woody maze. 

* * * 

" Ontwa ! the lightning lent its gleam 
But to confirm Kaskaskia's dream : 



32 



Three times the Manitou has given 

My dreaming ear the will of heaven ; 

Yet will Kaskaskia never yield 

Save in the bloody battle field. 

Springing from lands which stretch afar 

Where coldly shines the moveless star, 

Erie's bold race by conquest won 

These milder regions of the sun. 

A proud and mighty race — so says 

Tradition of forgotten days — 

Then ruled these Lakes ; with cunning blest 

In arts and arms o'er all the west, — 

As still appears from square and line 

Of warlike aspect and design. 

Whose lengthen'd trench and mound enseam 

The banks of many a winding stream, 

Muskinghum and Ohio fair. 

Spreading o'er plain and hillock there — 

Though worn and crumbled now by time, 

And bearing trees, of height sublime, 

Offspring, perhaps, of elder shade 

That there has flourish'd and decay'd. 

The Erie bands, though all unskill'd 
In arts and arms and trenched field — 



33 



Nor other shield or weapon knew 
Than naked breast and arrow true, 
Yet far in strength and valour rose 
Above their more experienced foes. 
Full many a snow on hill and plain 
Descended and dissolved again, 
Ere that the contest, fierce and long. 
Between the skilful and the strong, 
Was closed ; and many a mound may still 
Be seen on time-worn plain and hill, — 
Once red with blood, — that mould'ring tell 
Where thousands fought, and thousands fell. 
At last, great Areouski's* might 
Was leagued with Erie in the fight — 
Who drove afar the remnant bands 
To find new homes in other lands, 
And leave to victor foes the spoil 
Of lakes and streams and shaded soil. 
Here, Ontwa, have Kaskaskia's sires 
For ages raised their council fires — 
And shall we yield these lands unfought, 
So long preserved, so dearly bought ? 
No — Erie's smokes shall still arise, 
And curl amid her native skies : 

* The Indian god of war. 
5 



34 



And when they sink — with the last flame 
Let perish Erie's race and name. 

One duty, Ontwa, yet remains : 
This weapon, red with bloody stains,* 
Must Erie's bold defiance speak 
To Saranac : him must thou seek. 
Should Saranac the pledge receive, 
And still thy life and freedom leave, 
Like mountain deer, thy footsteps turn 
To heights where Erie's fires shall burn. 
Fix in thy crest this heron plume. 
Which none but warriors e'er assume. 
Or messengers, like thee, who go 
With bold defiance to the foe. 

Thy quiver is already hung — 

Quick let thy slacken'd bow be strung. 

The foe — so said my three-fold dream — 

Debarks beside Niag'ra's stream : 

Nor gloomy night, nor sultry day. 

Nor streams, nor wood, must cause delay ; 

* Carver says that the Indians, when they declare war, 
send a blood-stained weapon as a signal. The messenger is 
generally a slave, who is often killed in the errand. 



35 



The shrub must yield thy scanty food, 
Thy hasty sleep must be in wood, 
Thy pace must leave the deer behind 
And follow up the fleetest wind — 
Lest thou shouldst fail the feast to share, 
Our gath'ring bands will soon prepare, 
To fit the soul for battle deed 
And teach the warrior how to bleed." 

Kaskaskia ceased — when, like the dart, 
Was Ontwa's pluinage seen to part. 
The craggy hill-top soon was clear'd. 
The plain was past, the forest near'd ; 
While feelings new to youthful breast 
Waked in my heart a warlike zest, 
And tossing high my plumed head 
More proud became my bounding tread : 
When oft the nervous bow was bent 
And feath'ry arrow forward sent. 
To try my fleet and rival pace 
In contest with its winged race. 



ONTWA. 

PART III. 

' The sultry day — for 'twas the moon* 
When day ascends to highest noon — 
Went slowly down, — the shadows deep 
First o'er the sunken valleys sweep, 
Then gradual climb the peaked hill 
Where yellow twilight lingers still : — 
But Ontwa's step no falt'ring knew, 
And still press'd on as day withdrew. 

The night was now at top of heaven, 
The stars had half their lustre given ; 
And oft the night bird, as her eye 
Was musing on the silent sky, 



* June. — The Indians reckon months by moons, generally 
designating- them by some appropriate appellation, such as 
the hunting moon, the sultry moon, &c. 



38 



Scared at the noise of hasty rush 
That dash'd aside the stubborn bush — 
Unhke the wolf in wily round, 
Or wildcat's far but noiseless bound — 
Had risen aloft and with her screams 
Disturb'd the stilly hour of dreams. 
At last, among the shadows near, 
The glide of water caught my ear. 
Oh, what a charm to lips that thirst, 
Has rippling water's sudden burst I 
Long had my wearied pathway led, 
Through wilds that then exhausted spread. 
Where streamlets, dying at their source, 
To mossy rocks had left their course, 
And dews which on the foliage hung 
Alone had cool'd my fever'd tongue. 

There, 'neath the trees whose hanging shade 
More dark the murm'ring current made. 
And, as the breeze pass'd o'er, would seem 
To kiss, with loving bough, the stream, 
Prone on my breast I lay, and gave 
My thirsting fever to the wave. 
While thus reposing on the ground, 
List'ning to every passing sound, 



39 



With eyes intent upon the wood 
Where soon my march must be renew'd, 
A stately deer, from adverse side, 
Rush'd down to quaff the cooling tide, 
" Drink on," I said, " nor fear my bow 
Will lay thy branching antlers low. 
Like thee was Ontwa glad to dip 
In cooling wave his parched lip." 

While thus I musing said, methought 
His watchful eye some object caught ; 
And soon, around a point which bent 
The river from its straight descent, 
Appear'd a red and flickering flame 
Which downward with the current came — 
As if some spirit of the stream 
Had lighted up a friendly beam 
To guide the waters on their way 
While 'neath the hills should sleep the day- 
With one foot raised, as if for flight, 
And head erected tow'rds the light. 
He stood ; fix'd by the dazzling charm, 
All thoughtless of the ambush'd harm, 



40 



Till twanging bow an arrow speeding 
Laid him upon the pebbles bleeding.* 
From light canoe, the torch that bore, 
A hunter leap'd upon the shore. 
Half pleased half sorrowful survey'd 
The victim that his dart had made : 
And as he glided off again 
Thus raised the wild and simple strain. 

Ah, hapless deer! 

Thy fleet career 

Will ne'er again 

Skim o'er the plain, 
Nor up the breezy mountain ; 

And at the dawn, 

Thy doe and fawn 

Will vainly seek 

Thee on the creek, 
And near the gurgling fountain. 



* During the summer months, the Indians hunt the deer 
on the rivers : The insects drive them into the water, and the 
hunter, floating down under the cover of night, with a torch 
in the bow of his canoe, comes upon the animal while he is 
gazing bewildered at the light, and gives the fatal wound ere 
he is aware of any danger. 



41 



'Twas Chanta's eye 

That bade thee die, 

For her I rove 

A slave to love, 
Condemn'd to float the river, 

Till branching horn 

My bark adorn, 

Or blood of doe 

Rest on my bow, 
And spot my stainless quiver. 

(Think not the heart in desert bred 

To passion's softer touch is dead, 

Or that this shadowy skin contains 

No bright and animated veins — 

Where, though no blush its course betrays, 

The blood in all its wildness plays.) 

Mid drooping trees and dusky night 

Soon disappear'd the bark and light, 

And paddle's dip and hunter's lay 

At last in murmurs died away. 

As rising from my bed of moss, 
The stream, now still again, to cross, 
My thoughts pursued the hunter boy 
So full of triumph, love, and joy. 



42 



" Cast in the stream thy brindled prize, 
Nor seek a smile in Chanta's eyes, — ^ 
No more shall chase of deer or love 
The keenness of thy arrow prove : 
The sounds of war already fill 
The wigwams of thy native hill, 
And Chanta's voice, that bade thee stain 
Thy spotless dart in deer-blood slain, 
Must bid thee take a nobler bow 
And meet in bloodier field the foe." 

The stream was pass'd — and fresh from rest. 
Again through length'nmg wilds I prest, 
Dripping with damps of stream and dew^ 
Till peep of morn broke on the view. 
T stay'd a moment on the height 
Where blue Ontario meets the sight. 
And when the star of day arose 
Refresh'd and bright from long repose, 
Methought the broad and polish'd wave 
Some brief and distant glimpses gave 
Of barks, or shadows moving there, — 
But soon 'twas lost amid the glare. 
Onward I pass'd, now plunging down 
The shelving steep from summit's crown ; 



43 



Now breaking through the deep ravine, 
Where light of day is dimly seen, 
And tangled trees and rocky path 
Show signs of winter's loosen'd wrath ; 
Now scaling high the steep again, 
And ranging o'er the lofty plain, 
Where oft the bold projecting brow 
Gave fleeting glimpse of Lake below. 

Thus grew and died the toilsome day. 
And night had darken'd o'er the way. 
When, rising on my full career, 
Niag'ra's waters struck the ear. 
Soon on those Heights my feet were stay'd. 
Where first its mighty plunge was made — * 
(So spoke Kaskaskia's tale of times 
When Erie's race first won these climes,) 
By yawning gulf now sever'd wide, 
Where darkly rolls its present tide, 
In broken whirlpools sweeping by, 
Still fainter murm'ring as they fly, 
Till on the distant plain they cease 
And seek the Lake in limpid peace. 

^ It is a generally received hypothesis, that the Falls of 
Niagara began their retrogression at the Heights of Queens- 



44 



From scenes below, now wrapp'd in night, 
Slight gleams broke quiv'ring on my sight, 
And myriad sounds, like distant hum, 
By fits upon the ear would come ; 
While gazing still, soft slumbers stole 
On wearied limbs and anxious soul. 

The dreaming world before me spread, 
And onward still I seem'd to tread : 
Till arrows, sped with every breath, 
Had closed my path with wounds and death ; 
When lo ! a form, of brighter hue 
Than Indian vision ever knew, 
Threw round a shield of snowy charm 
And turn'd aside the threat'ning harm. 
I knelt to worship ; but methought 
Her face the beams of morning caught, 
And, gath'ring still increasing rays, 
Soon shone in all the sun's broad blaze ! 
I woke, — and saw the risen sun 
Already high his course had run : 
Springing elastic from the ground, 
I gazed in doubt and wonder 'round ! 
And still with partly dreaming eyes 
Look'd on the plain, the stream and skies. 



45 



But soon was fix'd my wand'ring glance 
On far Ontario's broad expanse — 
Like polish'd wall, half raised on high, 
Leaning against the hollow sky. 
There hurst Kaskaskia's dream to view, 
The dream inspired by Manitou ! 
On Michi-saki's point arose 
The smokes of Erie's thousand foes ; 
Then were the barks, still plying o'er, 
Confusedly crowding on the shore, 
Till all the strand, like swarming hive, 
With hum and tumult seem'd alive. 
High o'er the rest, a lofty smoke 
The fire of Saranac bespoke ; 
Where fancy pictured forth his form. 
Like Areouski mid the storm, 
Gath'ring his bolts, to wreak his ire 
On Erie's race and Ontwa's sire. 

How fired my spirit at the sight 1 
And plunging down the lofty Height, 
Soon from its base, my winged speed 
Was sweeping through the wood and mead. 
The wily scout was often seen. 
Winding his way through thickets green. 



46 



To make that lofty Height his stand ; 

Whence he might spy approaching band. 

Soon grew the nearer tumult loud, 

Of jarring sounds and bustling crowd, 

And every noise that met the ear 

Gave signal that the camp was near. 

I hasten'd on, through deeper shade 

By interwoven tree-tops made. 

Where grass, uncheck'd by with'ring heat, 

Grew green and rank about the feet ; 

And alders, on the border side. 

Like verdant fringe, hung o'er the tide. 

Leaving the upward glancing ray 

Amid their leaves a broken play — 

Which, as it downward gleam'd, in vain 

Had strived an ent'ring pass to gain. 

Half ling'ring to enjoy the scene, 

The grateful shade and flow'ry green, 

And half to dress my heron crest 

Which hasty march had slight depress'd — 

I loiter'd through the fair retreat. 

As if some charm detain'd my feet ; 

When lo ! on bed of roses there, 

A form, like bright Hahunah'^ fair, 

* The Indian word for morning. 



47 



In slumber broke upon my sight ! 
Was it my dreaming vision bright ? 
Or, spirit sent from liquid cave 
Beneath Ontario's shining wave, 
To guide the favour'd Saranac 
O'er the far billows of his track ? 

Her raven hair, half wreath'd, descended, 
And o'er her face like shadows blended ; 
Half veiling charms of fairer hue 
Than ever forest daughter knew. 
Such locks ne'er deck'd the desert child ! 
Ne'er bloom'd such cheeks in forest wild ! 
Not that the skin of doe or fawn 
That o'er her fairer neck is drawn, 
And all the rising breast conceals, 
Which Erie's daughter half reveals. 
Trembling, as in my dream I knelt. 
And all the awe of worship felt : — 
" Bright spirit of the air or deep! 
Let Ontwa guard thy morning sleep. 
This wild rose, blooming o'er thy rest, 
I'll pluck to decorate thy breast ; 
That kind propitious sweets may bear 
My name to visions rising there." 



48 



I gazed, enchain'd by powerful spell, 

Till bow and dart forgotten fell, 

And Erie and invading host 

Were all in one deep feeling lost. 

I watch'd the closing of her dreams 

To catch her eye's first opening beams. 

The long dark lashes slowly rose. 

As all unwilling to disclose 

The light beneath : so fringed height 

Oft gives delay to morning's light. 

They broke, — but oh I 'twere vain, — how faint 

Were tints the gleam of star to paint ! 

What wonder, that my forest eye 

Should deem her spirit of the sky ? 

Or, doubt that the red Indian's earth 

Could give such shining beauties birth ? 

My youthful ear had heard of race. 

With form enrobed and snowy face, 

Which, coming from the rising sun. 

O'er all the morning world had run ; 

But Ontwa never knew their blood 

Had beat in hearts that roved the wood. 

Nor that their fairer hues had shed 

Their lustre o'er our shadowy red. 



49 



I said like dawn her slumbers pass'd, 
But soon that dawn was overcast ; 
The smile, her happy dreams had left. 
By terror was at once bereft — 
At sight of bold intruder there, 
Of stranger mien and frenzied air. 
Like frighted doe, with sudden start. 
She seized her ready bow and dart, ' 
And drawing home the feathery guard, 
Half turn'd, as if for flight prepared ; 
The plumed death a moment stay'd, 
A moment was the flight delay 'd, 
When, kneeling still — " Ah ! stay," I cried. 
" Blest spirit of the air or tide, 
Nor thus in angry terror shun 
Ontwa, the Chief of Erie's son : 
Bearing proud message from my race 
To Saranac, my erring pace 
Intruded on thy slumbers sweet ; 
I knelt in homage at thy feet^ 
And pluck'd a wild rose o'er thy head 
And on thy breast its odours spread, 
Propitious visions to inspire 
For Ontwa's race and Ontwa's sire." 
7 



50 



Her eye no longer bore a frown, 
Her bow, relax'd, was sinking down. 
And in relenting pause she stood — 
When arrow, sent from neighb'ring wood, 
Half erring, sped its ambush'd harm 
And quiver'd in my bleeding arm. 
She sprang, she knelt, and as she drew 
The reeking barb and feather through, 
Her shining hair swept o'er my breast — 
Her hand upon my shoulder prest — 
Her cheek came near : What then was pain^ 
My wilder'd feelings to restrain ? — 
Ontwa had torment learnt to bear, 
But ne'er had look'd on cheek so fair : 
What wonder then, the tempting bliss 
My lips should seize with daring kiss ? 

To draw the dart with pitying speed, 

And rise again at daring deed, 

And turn with proud reproachful look — 

Of time but briefest moment took ; 

That moment past, the bowman came 

To follow up his arrow's aim — 

A Chief of lofty gait and mien 

With hasty steps approach'd the scene. 



51 



" What foot has dared in slumb'ring hour 

To steal within Oneyda's bower ? 

Let second arrow truer fly — 

Thy stranger plume speaks lurking spy." 

The bow was fiercely bent again — 

And barb drawn back with nervous strain — 

When sudden slacks the vengeful draught, 

Lest loved Oneyda feel the shaft ; 

For then, just ere the arrow flew, 

In generous haste, her form she threw. 

To beg her father's warrior bow, 

Would spare the blood of kneeling foe. 

But Ontwa was not kneeling then, — 

Though all too late my bow had been 

To check the Chief's impetuous dart, 

Whose truer flight had reach' d my heart 

Had not the form, my vision gave, 

Been hov'ring near my life to save. 

Beneath an elm, whose spreading top 
Around like curtains seem'd to drop, 
Sate Saranac — while, on the ground 
His myriad followers closed around : 
First aged chiefs, then warriors bold, 
Then youths allow'd their place to hold ; 



52 



While women, children, farther still, 
All join the circling group to fill — 
Where shaven head, and feather'd crest, 
And bow and club for battle dress'd, 
Of every form and hue appear, 
Like leaves that deck the dying year. 
Within this ring was Ontwa led 
Already doom'd to join the dead ; 
Condemn'd, by ling'ring pangs to die, 
As sentence due to lurking spy. 
Stern Saranac, in haughty gloom, 
Sate while a chief proclaim'd my doom ; 
The fair Oneyda leaning near, 
As if to ask a pitying ear, 
Bending her beauties o'er his form, 
Like sunshine on the brow of storm. 

Ere yet the guards had seized their prey, 
While mercy seem'd to ask delay, 
I raised my blood-stain'd pledge on high 
And cried — ■'' No spy, stern chief, am L 
From great Kaskaskia, Ontwa's sire, 
I bring this pledge of Erie's ire." 

*' Kaskaskia's son ! take back thy life — 
To lose it in a nobler strife. 



53 



We come from other climes afar, 
New lands to seek for chase and war : 
Once on a Lake, whose lesser sweep 
Lies fix'd in mountain basin deep ;* 
Where green and lofty peaks arise 
Till blended with the deep blue skies, 
Long shutting out the morning ray 
From waters that beneath them lay ; 
Raised Saranac his hundred fires 
Amid the ashes of his sires. 
But mightier race than ours has come 
And driven us from our ancient home, 
Where forest's bow — of game despoil'd 
That seeks afar securer wild — 
And hill and plain, no more possess 
The charm and sport of wilderness. 
Not weak we come ; thou dost behold 
But half our chiefs and warriors bold. 
No breeze now stirs on yon blue Lake, 
That does not moving barks o'ertake, 
All plying fast the sail, or oar, 
To gain this designated shore : 
When all are come — prepared for fight. 
We hold our course up yonder Height, 

* Lake Champlain. 



54 



Where, should the Eries sue for peace, 
Our hostile march perchance may cease. — 
A warrior shall attend thee out 
To guard thee safe beyond our scout." 

" No guard does Ontwa want, nor guide ; 
With bow and quiver by my side, 
And step all used to forest maze, 
My march shall mock thy scout's keen gaze : 
Ere yon bright sun again shall rise 
And light anew the eastern skies, 
Drinking the dew-drop on the flower 
Shed there by evening's viewless shower, 
Ontwa the feast and dance will share, 
Which Erie's warriors now prepare ; 
Whose games such deadly thirst shall wake 
As blood of foe alone can slake." 

Then had my course, with sudden bound, 
Been speeding far from foeman's ground, 
And vainly through the thicket wood 
By step or vision been pursued ; 
When, like a deer whose ready start 
Is check' d by arrow through the heart, 
Half turn'd I stay'd, fix'd by the eye 
Of fair Oneyda hov'ring nigh. — 



55 



A glance withheld my daring soul 
And all my winged purpose stole : 
No more the image of my dream, 
Which fancy might a spirit deem, 
I saw her now of mortal birth, 
Though fairest child of Indian earth, 
And felt a new and throbbing heat 
Through every quick pulsation beat. 
'Twas the same throb that shook my breast 
When first I watch'd her dreaming rest ; 
But then methought that throb was given 
To spirit of the wave or heaven. 

What though a thousand warriors stood, 
Ready to spill presumptuous blood. 
Whose stranger love should dare disgrace 
The pride and blossom of their race ? 
I turn'd and knelt — and as I gazed, 
Saw not the myriad weapons raised 
To pierce my heart, — the threat'ning harm 
Was check'd but by Oneyda's arm, 
That waved in pity o'er my form 
And stay'd midway the bursting storm. — 
'Twas but a moment's bliss I felt, 
'Twas but a moment that I knelt — 



56 



I saw the anguish of her eye. 

The tender fear that bade me fly, 

And wildly seizing, as I pass'd, 

One short embrace — then deem'd the last — 

Ere sire could turn, or throng rush on, 

Ontwa, like lightning's flash, was gone. 



ONTWA. 

PART IV. 

' Morn, through her arched gates of light, 
Now foUow'd up the shadow's flight, 
And shed from ruddy clouds a glow 
That gilded wood and lake below ; 
When on my sight all dimly broke 
The glimpse of distant tent and smoke. 
The rugged hill uprose in vain. 
And vainly spread the lengthen' d plain, 
To check my fleet and eager way : 
Then, as the sun's first level ray 
Burst on Kaskaskia's waking view, 
That ray presented Ontwa too. 
He calmly heard my errand done — 
Unmoved he saw the peril run ; 
For stern composure, full of thought, 
Had to his mien submission taught, 



58 



And bliss or woe pass'd o'er his mind. 
Nor light nor shadow left behind : 
Or if his iron forehead e'er 
Betray'd a feeling less severe, 
'Twas like the wintry sun's faint glow 
That leaves more hard the front of snow. 

Now gathers round the warlike throng, 
Prepared for feast and dance and song. 
The fire awakes and curls on high, 
And whoops ascend the hollow sky, 
While many a faithful Aleem* bleeds 
To fit the soul for battle deeds. 
A hundred warriors now advance, 
All dress'd and painted for the dance ; 
And sounding club and hollow skin 
A slow and measured time begin : 
With rigid limb and sliding foot, 
And murmurs low, the time to suit, 
Forever varying with the sound, 
The circling band moves 'round and 'round. 
Now slowly rise the swelling notes. 
When every crest more lively floats, 

* The dog- : an animal that is sacrificed and eaten on 
every solemn occasion. 



59 



Now toss'd on high with gesture proud, 
Then lowly mid the circle bow'd ; 
While clanging arms grow louder still, 
And every voice becomes more shrill, 
Till fierce and strong the clamour grows 
And the wild war-whoop bids it close. 
Then starts Shuuktonga forth, whose band 
Came far from Huron's storm-beat strand. 
And thus recounts his battle feats, 
While his dark club the measure beats :* 

" At fall of leaf, o'er Huron's wave 
Came party of the Saukies brave. 
Far from the mighty Turtle's! isle. 
And, stealing on our tribe with guile. 
When hunter's arm and bow were gone 
And wives and children left alone, 
Seized on the weak and helpless prey, 
And bore them, weeping slaves, away. 

'' Shuuktonga, from the hunt returning. 
Found all were gone, and wigwams burning. 
And deep revenge he swore. 

* At the Indian feasts, when a dance is concluded, some 
warrior starts up and recounts a battle feat, of which the nar- 
rator is always the hero. 

t Michi-mackinac means great Turtle. 



60 



Through thirty suns and thirty sleeps, 
At loneliest glens and highest steeps 
Severest fast he bore. 

" Then on the ground his mat he spread, 

And raised aloft his signal red, 

And call'd on all whose hearts had bled, 

To string the vengeful bow ; 
That Saukies' blood might quench the flame,. 
Which long had burnt to tell their shame 

And triumph of the foe. 

" O'er ice and snow we bore the war ; 
The isle's white summit, gleaming far 
Long after day had sunk to rest, 
Was raising high its yellow crest 

To lead us on our way : 
The night was midway riding o'er. 
When reach'd our files its lofty shore : 
Through knotted trees, along the brink, 
Where sliding foot would often shrink. 
And threat'ning rocks and yawning arch* 
Would oft delay the cautious march, 

Our silent pathway lay. 

* The " arched rock" on the island of Michi-inackinac, 
is one of the greatest and most interesting curiosities of the 
country of the Lakes. 



61 



" Beneath the brink, the Saukies slept. 
No watchful eye the sentry kept, 

E'en Aleem's bark was dumb ! 
We hung on high — no spirit seem'd 
To tell them, as they sweetly dream'd. 

The vengeful foe is come ! 

" The morning broke ; but Saukie's eye 
Ne'er look'd again on dappled sky — 
For every heart that beat at eve. 
Ere dawning light, had ceased to heave ; 
And not a tongue was left to tell. 
How Saukies fought or Saukies fell." 

Shuuktonga ceased : — In murmuring strain, 
The circling dance began again ; 
And when the whoop proclaim'd its close, 
Catawba, midst the clamour, rose. 
From Erie's shore, where islands spread 
Like wampum belt across its head, 
He came, — and thus, in numbers rude. 
Loudly the varying song renew'd. 

" Oft in my youth I used to take 
Advent'rous course across the lake, 
From isle to island plying ; 



62 



Nor fear'd, when fierce the tempest shook. 
Far in some cove or rocky nook, 
Where billow never roU'd its way. 
My light canoe would find a bay, 
And all in peace be lying. 

" What led me o'er the distant wave ? 
What led me thus the storm to brave ? 

'Twas Unadilla's love. 
Miami's Chief, her warlike sire, 
Received me at his friendly fire, 

And did my suit approve. 

" I sought her on the rocky cliff, 
Where she was wont to watch my skiff 

Skimming the waters fleet, — 
And where, with ornaments and skin, 
She now prepared the mockasin 

To deck Catawba's feet. 

" I stole along, with silent pace, 
And paused a moment just to trace 
Her features through the shade, 
When, rushing from the other side, 
A youth, array'd in warlike pride. 
His bold appearance made. 



63 



" With eager joy and greeting warm 
I saw him fold her yielding form, — 

My jealous brain turn'd 'round. 
Ere yet the quick embrace could part. 
My hasty arrow pierced his heart — 

His plumage kiss'd the ground. 

" She turn'd, and saw the fatal bow 
Whose rashness laid the warrior low, 

And cried, in anguish wild, 
' Ah ! fly, Catawba, fly the deed ; 
Not unrevenged can Waitou bleed — 
He was Miami's child !' 

" Already rush'd the impatient crowd 
To greet the youth, with clamours loud. 

Just come from field of fame. 
I dared not seek a parting sigh, 
I turn'd, but not in fear — to fly : 

I fled to hide my shame. 

" My lingering bark, with idle oar. 
Scarce plied along the rocky shore — 
Watching the jutting cliff" above, — 
What well known form was seen to move ? 



64 



'Twas Unadilla's step advanced : 
Around an anxious eye she glanced ; 
When, from a point, was seen to shoot 
A bark, as if in quick pursuit. 
I heeded not its fast approach — 
I saw her foot too far encroach, 

As if to urge my flight : 
Methought the crumbhng rock gave way — 
Kind Manitou the ruin stay ! — 

I closed my aching sight. 

"The crash and plunge in silence died — 
The rippling wave spread far and wide, 
At last my distant bark it shook; 
I raised my head with trembling look — - 

And all was calm again. 
All thoughtless of pursuer's course, 
I darted off with frantic force, 

As if to fly from pain. 

" My single arm an isle had near'd, 
Before the stronger bark appear'd, 

Driven on with foaming speed : 
'Twas then, with lagging strength, my mind 
First waked to peril yet behind, 

And roused to sense of heed. 



65 



" I urged my way round rocky cape, 
By sheltering bay to make escape, 
And, ere their bark my skiff could reach, 
Its lighter prow had struck the beach, 

And I was in the wood. 
In vengeful haste through thicket shade. 
O'er swelling knoll and rocky glade, 

My steps were close pursued. 

" Fast gain'd they on my failing pace — 
Like hunters urging on the chase. 

More near became their bound ; 
When on my path, a refuge cave* 
Yawn'd wide, as if a wretch to save,— 

I plunged beneath the ground : 
The cloven rocks a passage gave 

Within the dark profound. 

Where died away each passing sound. 

" I sunk on moist and rocky bed ; 

To dreaming lands my spirit fled, 

And left behind its grief, — 



* There is a cave in the island of Putin-Bay, which has 
been the subject of much admiration, on account of its di- 
mensions and beautiful stalactites. 



66 



Again my Unadilla lived, — 
And smiled again, his son revived — 
The old Miami Chief. 

" But oh! what horrors when I woke I 
No gleam of light around me broke— 

'Twas thickest darkness all ; 
And naught disturb'd the silence deep 
That through the cavern held its sleep, 
Save mournful drops, the roof might weep. 

Scarce sounding in their fall. 

" Catawba was not used to quake, 
But living death like this might shake 
The stoutest heart : I sought some ray 
That might reveal the entering way ; 
Through many a chasm and lengthen'd arch 
I groped in wild and desperate search, 
Now stumbling o'er the brittle stones 
Crumbling at touch like mouldering bones, 
Now falling in some silent stream 
Ne'er known to breeze or daylight beam — *" 

* At the end of the cave alluded to, there is a little basin 
of water, so pellucid and imperturbably clear, as scarcely to 
appear distinct ftom the incumbent atmosphere : it is only 
when a pebble or other thing is thrown into it, that the illusion 
vanishes. 



67 



Till hopeless, faint and frantic grown, 
I laid my wearied body down 

In deep and calm despair. 
I call'd on death — when oh ! methought 
My bare and fever'd bosom caught 

Some breath of upper air ! 
I moved — and soon a glimmering ray. 
Led back my steps again to day." 

Catawba ceased. — And thus the song 
And dance and feast the hours prolong. 
Each Chief his wild adventure told 
In hunt, in love, or battle bold ; 
And daylight, rolling down the heaven, 
Had touch'd the forest-brow of even, 
When rose Kaskaskia from his place, 
And call'd to arms the Erie race. 
The revels sunk : Each bow was strung, 
And quiver o'er each shoulder flung, 
And every Chief, in warlike mood, 
Before his warriors ready stood — 
Their gay crests tossing mid the green. 
As foam upon the dark waves seen. 
At first led ofl" the wily scout ; 
When every band took up its route 



68 



In single line, with heedful pace, 
Leaving behind no treacherous trace 
On bough or bush or bending grass 
That might reveal the secret pass. — 
Thus fled the night. No sound betray'd 
That thousands march'd beneath its shade j 
And mildly shone the moon and stars, 
As earth vi^ere sleeping free from wars. 
The march was stay'd at brightening dawn. 
Far in the forest's depths withdrawn, — 
All, save the scouts, in stillness lay, 
Till night again conceal'd the way. 

The moon had gone, and darkest hour 

Had lost already half its power. 

And faintest gleam, like scouting spy, 

Was stealing up the morning sky, 

When foremost Chief deep sounds could hear 

That spoke Niag'ra's thunders near. 

At once, a note, that foe would deem 

Naught but the night-bird's piercing scream, 

Was heard afar : at signal sound, 

Each Chief and warrior sunk to ground. 

When every leaf return'd to rest. 

And sprung no more the grass depress'd, 



ON TWA. 69 

And stillness trembled through the air — 
As never man had trampled there. 

'Twas Ontwa now advanced alone : 

To him the foeman's look was known ; 

And, skill'd in signs of forest track — 

The grass bent down — the twigs thrown back,— 

To him was given the task to trace 

The foeman's path and lurking place. — 

With wreath of leaves twined round my brow, 

To look like waving bush or bough , 

I stole along : — as day advanced, 

A keener gaze around was glanced 

That far through thickest foliage sees, 

While my quick ear caught every breeze, 

Till passing sounds were heard no more, 

Lost in Niag'ra's swelling roar. 

Soon, as I stood in covert dark 

An opening in the wood to mark, 

Methought I saw a foeman spy, 

'Mongst skirting trees, pass swiftly by : 

I watch'd his step — full near he came^ 

When true was made my arrow's aim : 

He fell : — and, with his signal crest 

And well-known arms and wampum drest, 



70 



I launch'd again on bolder route, 
Secure to pass for foeman's scout. 

Soon on the wood-crown'd plain and height, 

I caught of foe imperfect sight, 

Deep hid by mask of boughs and leaves 

That all but keenest eye deceives. 

Then unsuspected here and there, 

I hover'd round their secret lair, — 

Noted each glade, recess, and path 

That might conduct the battle's wrath, 

And give direction or disguise 

To bold attack or dark surprise : 

Then doffing arms and crest of slain, 

Triumphant darted back again. 

' Poor scout,' I said — ' my dart laid low — 

Long thy return may wait the foe, 

And while they chide thy lagging pace, 

Vengeance may reach their lurking place — 

And Erie come, by Ontwa led, 

Through paths thy fallen crest betray'd.' 

Now woke Kaskaskia's signal sound — 

At once the warriors rise around : 

He bade them wreath their brows with green 

That they might ape the verdant scene. 



71 



" No sound will wake the foeman's ear, 
Fill'd with Niag'ra's thunders near ; 
And still inactive they may lie 
Waiting their slow returning spy, 
Who, low by Ontwa's arrow laid, 
Now sleeps at rest in yonder glade. 
Their coverts reach'd, let bush or tree 
The ambush of each Erie be, 
Till wily whoop shall cause the foe, 
Thoughtless of harm, his crests to show. 
Then, when from lurking place they rise 
And stand unmask'd before our eyes. 
Let then the feather' d vengeance wake. 
And every dart its victim take ; 
And lest some barb should vainly speed. 
Let the dark club pursue the deed — 
Till every spot where foeman stood 
Shall bear a corpse, and float in blood. 
Know, the triumphant hour is nigh ; 
For the Great Spirit of the sky, 
As he rush'd by amid the storm, 
Did thus Kaskaskia's soul inform : 
Never shall Erie lose the field, 
While foe shall desert weapon wield.^'' 



72 



The star of day was just descending. 

Its lustre still to vapours lending 

That high ahove Niag'ra hung, 

And down reflected brightness flung 

On dark abyss and forest shade, 

And twilight in its march delay'd ; 

When, all unseen, the Erie bands 

Had seized their close and ambush'd stands^ 

And lowly crouch'd with listening ear. 

Waiting the signal whoop to hear. — 

The pause was deep, — and, save the roar 

Of rumbling waters tumbling o'er 

The torrent's steep, no sound was heard 

That aught the calm of twilight stirr'd. 

At last the whoop deceptive rose — 
At once leap'd up a thousand foes 
From tree and bush and lowly shrub, 
With bended bow, and lifted club, 
Casting around an anxious eye. 
As asking — whence the battle-cry ? 
From viewless bows, a plumed shower 
Burst forth from covert shade and bower, 
As if each leaf, by sudden art. 
Had been transform'd to barbed dart, 



73 



And fierce and fatal answer sped, 
That laid full many a foeman dead. 
As peal succeeds the lightning's flash, 
So sudden burst the battle's crash : 
With direst whoop, from ambush'd place, 
On rush'd the vengeful Erie race ; 
And, ere the dart had spent its force, 
Pursued with club its bloody course — 
Renewing oft the mortal blow 
On rising and on sinking foe ; 
Till every crest was seen to stoop. 
That rose to view at wily whoop. 

Then died the tumult of the fight. 
The moon look'd down with broken light, 
And fitful shone on victor crest. 
And, vanquish' d, sunk in dreamless rest ; 
While rose anew Niag'ra's jar, 
As if to fill the pause of war. 
Lies every foeman bleeding there ? — 
Or whence the whoops that rend the air ? 
'Tis Saranac, with mightier host. 
Who comes — unfelt the thousands lost — 
To wake again the battle's rage. 
On, on we rush — again engage t 
10 



74 



This was no wavering, yielding fray, 
That wounds and blood might soon allay; 
'Twas conflict fierce— now deadly grown- 
Whose fury death could end alone. — 
While the full quiver gave its store, 
The arrowy storm was seen to pour : 
Then closed the fight with deeper yell. 
And ponderous clubs together fell. 
And, while the crash to crash succeeds, 
More deep the reeking battle bleeds. 
At last the desperate struggle came 
Of vigorous frame lock'd in with frame — 
When closed the fierce and frantic grasp, 
That only broke with life's last gasp. 
The moon oft shining thro' the gloom. 
Would glimpses give of sinking plume, 
Of writhing form, and drooping head. 
And thousands cold on gory bed. 
The clouds pass'd off the face of heaven, 
And back the fainting foe was driven ! 
A moment stay'd Kaskaskia's foot. 
Lest ambush wait the quick pursuit, — 
When, bursting from a viewless cloud. 
Quick peals of thunder, sharp and loud, 
From height behind the foemen broke, 
And darting far its fatal stroke — 



75 



Like Areouski's shrouded wrath, 

Spread death and terror o'er its path. 

The trembling Eries shrunk aghast ! 

'Twas the Great Spirit sent the blast, 

And bade them yield to foes the field 

Who thus could Heaven's own thunders wield.* 

They sunk to earth, with fears subdued : 

Alone erect, Kaskaskia stood. 

The moon beam'd full upon his brow, 

Of more than mortal sternness now, 

While, kindling 'neath her gentle beam. 

His eye sent back its fiercest gleam, — 

As it would quench the light which shone 

On Erie's greatness overthrown, — 

Or ask the cloudless skies, whence came 

This thunder, wrapp'd in smoke and flame ? 

Again along the wood it peals ! — 

Kaskaskia's lofty plumage reels ! 

Through unseen wound, in gushing flood, 

His ample breast sends forth its blood ; — 

Long the red earth the torrent drinks, 

Ere yet that lofty plumage sinks : 

* The inexperienced savages, when they first heard the re- 
port of fire-arms, supposed those who used them to be more 
than mortals, and made no resistance to what they believed 
to be the wrath of the Great Spirit. 



76 



At last it falls, — like hanging rock, 
That slowly yields to lightning's shock, 
Till prop and hold and all are gone, 
Then sinks, in majesty, alone. 

The battle swept along, — it pass'd ; 
And wearied carnage sunk at last : 
While, rising o'er the reeking plain, 
Niag'ra swell'd his din again, 
Hush'd the last groans the dying gave, 
And rung o'er Erie's bloody grave. — 
The morning came, and curving rays 
Bedeck'd anew the torrent's haze : 
But Erie's eye was quench'd in night. 
Save Ontwa's — none saw morning light ,- 
A lonely captive — spared to grace 
The feast, of triumph, o'er his race. 



ONTWA. 

PART V. 

' The day pass'd o'er the scene of blood, 
And night again hung o'er the wood ; 
But other scenes than strife and war 
Now caught the hght of moon and star. 
As sunk the sun, the victors rose, 
Refresh'd by rest since battle's close, 
And roused the feast of sacrifice : — 
For with the morning Ontwa dies. 
Beneath an oak, on rising ground, 
Fast to the trunk, by osiers bound. 
The victim sat : while fierce and loud, 
Spread far and near the circling crowd. 
A central fire curl'd high in air, 
And, darting 'round a ruddy glare, 
Bright on the inner circle glow'd. 
The distant throng more dimly show'd, 
And tinged the pile with gloomy light 
Which stood before the captive's sight — 



78 



Waiting but morn's enkindling breath, 
To light down Ontwa's soul to death. 

Sped on the feast and revelry : 

The dance oft wheel'd around the tree, 

The flaming brand was often sent, 

And bow in idle mockery bent : 

But naught the soul of Ontwa shook — 

He answer'd all with scornful look ; 

And thus, amid the insulting throng, 

Raised high and bold his victim-song : 

Think not Ontwa's spirit shaken ; 
Fear can ne'er a throb awaken — 
Though this form be captive taken, 

Still his soul is free. 
All your fiery torments scorning, 
Pleased he sees the pile adorning. 
Which shall send him, with the morning, 

Sire and friends to see. 

What though Erie low be lying — 
And no voice will e'er be crying 
For revenge of Ontwa dying ! 
Still his soul will boast : 



79 



Where yon vultures now are feeding, 
Many a foeman's corse lies bleeding, 
Given by Ontwa's dart their speeding : 
These revenge his ghost. 

Stars of heaven ! why still ascending ? 
Would your lights were downward bending, 
Would the shades of night were ending, 

And the day begun. 
By delightful rivers staying, 
Erie's gather'd bands are straying, 
Chiding Ontwa's long delaying — 

Would the night were done. 

Thus, while around the revels rung, 

My song of death was proudly sung. — 

A fiery juice, by white men given, 

Oft through the feast and dance was driven. 

And loud and fierce the tumult grew : 

No rest the forest echoes knew 

From whoop and yell, till midnight hour 

Descended with its drowsy power, 

And falling on the crowd around 

Laid them in slumbers on the ground. 

All, save the guard of Ontwa, slept : 

E'en that but fitful watching kept : 



80 



And with continued languor prest, 
Sunk down, at last, among the rest. 

The downward moon now gently shone 
On Ontwa's waking eye alone. 
The fire, unfed, descended low. 
And shed but weak and flickering glow, 
While scarce the dying coals awoke. 
Beneath the dew-drop from the oak — 
Caught by some leaf in silence there 
And sent down glittering through the air. 
'Twas stillness all, save broken scream 
That sometimes burst from warrior's dream, 
As if anew the battle raged. 
And all his dreaming thoughts engaged. 

Viewing the scene with vacant eye. 

Now fix'd on earth, now on the sky, 

With rising soul, whose flight was borne 

Far o'er the fate of coming morn, 

And mix'd already with the bands 

Of Erie, risen in happier lands, — 

In dreaming thoughtfulness I sunk. 

Half slumb'ring 'gainst the tree's dark trunk : 

Till fancy, mid the light and shade 

That underneath the foliage play'd, 



81 



Pictured a form, like vision bright, 
Now hovering near, now far from sight ; 
As if some spirit, sent to bear 
My soul away, were waiting there. 
Nearer and nearer yet it drew : 
Did fancy still deceive my view ? 
The moon sent forth a brighter beam, 
That broke the shadows of my dream ; — 
'Tis she ! that beam her form betrays — 
'Twas fair Oneyda met my gaze ! 

The ever watchful dog, that heard 
Her near approach, a moment stirr'd, 
A moment view'd her, as she stood 
Like spirit lost amid the wood — 
Then crouch'd again with chiding whine. 
As if awaked by moon-beam's shine. 
With wary look, and listening ear 
That paused each trembling sound to hear, 
And foot whose fall would scarce disturb 
The dew that stood on leaf and herb, 
Through the prone guard around that lay — 
She made her light and cautious way. 
Why starts that warrior from his doze ? 
'Twas but a restless dream of foes 
11 



82 



That roused him from his earthy bed, 
Where soon again he bows his head ; 
And as the murm'ring sounds subside, 
Oneyda stands at Ontwa's side. 
DeHght and wonder chain'd my tongue, 
While o'er my captive form she hung* 
And thus, as with a trembhng hand 
She loosed the osier's knotty band, 
And then, with bright entreating eye 
And earnest gesture, bade me fly. 
Silent and lost in gaze of love, 
I felt nor wish nor power to move : 
She seized my hand, and led the way, 
Where prostrate guard and warriors lay, 
With scatter'd darts and slacken'd bow — 
That told, the Erie race was low. 

She paused when deep within the shade : — 
" Now fly, young warrior ! fly — " she said ; 
" Urge through the dark thy rapid flight, 
Nor fear pursuit till morning light : 
My hand the drowsy drink prepared. 
Which luU'd to rest thy watchful guard ; 
Now low among the crowd o'erthrown, 
They'll find too late the victim flown. 



83 



Last of a race — now lost in war ! 
Seek out some new and brighter star : 
And when thou sleep'st beneath its beam, 
Let far Oneyda share thy dream." 

Can Ontwa paint her simple grace — 
Her slender form, and lovely face, 
Which only half its beauty show'd. 
So wildly loose her dark locks flow'd — 
The tear that dimm'd her glist'ning eye, 
When she would bid the w^anderer fly ? — 
The sinking moon with pleased delay 
Glanced on her charms a mellow ray, 
And show'd on robe and features fair 
The dew, and brighter tear-drop, there.— 
Did Ontwa then alone depart ? 
Ah! no. I cried, with selfish heart, 
" Sweet blossom of the wild ! thy hands 
Have sever'd Ontwa's captive bands. 
But vainly dost thou set him free. 
When stilLhis heart is bound to thee. 
The osier bond no longer holds, 
But wreath of love has stronger folds : 
Oh, thou bright vision of my sleep. 
Ere Ontwa's eyes had learnt to weep — 



84 



Thou, whom I thought a star from heaven, 

Or spirit by the blue wave given, 

When watching o'er thy morning rest 

I placed the wild rose on thy breast — 

Oh whither, now, shall Ontwa turn ? 

His country's fires no longer burn : 

Of home and sire and kindred reft, 

What has the lonely wanderer left — 

If thou, Oneyda, scorn his love. 

And send him forth alone to rove ? 

My death-song had been proudly sung. 

My soul like nervous bow was strung, 

And waited with impatient smile 

The burning of the fatal pile. 

Whose morn-enkindling flames would close 

Over the last of Erie's woes. 

What drew my spirit back to earth ?— 

'Twas form of more than Indian birth, 

Such charms as Ontwa never knew, 

For never such in desert grew. 

Erie's red daughters long had sigh'd 

To melt this bosom's icy pride, 

But till I saw Oneyda's face 

I never loved, but sportive chase. 

Then wilt thou forth the wanderer send, 

Bereft of home and sire and friend ? 



85 



When thou, Oneyda — wouldst thou roam, 
Might be his friend, his sire and home." 

*' Too well, bold youth ! thou know'st the art 

To win with flattering tongue the heart, 

And far too willing thou hast found 

My ear to listen to the sound. 

Prize not too high this fairer face, 

Which owes its hues to white man's race : 

Learn that Oneyda's mother came 

From distant shores of Gallic name, — 

In former wars, her home subdued, 

By savage foe and death pursued. 

To Saranac she owed her life ; 

And, in return, became his wife. 

Ere twice the forest bloom had fled, 

She sunk within her narrow bed — 

Whence her lorn soul return'd again 

To hover o'er her native plain. 

'Twas from her milk Oneyda drew 

The snows that gave this brighter hue. 

'Twas all of Gallia's race she gave : 

The rest was buried in her grave. — 

But why detain ? — Oh ! quickly haste, 

Nor more the precious moments waste. 



86 



Nay — why delay ? — 'Tis all in vain : 
'Twere easy this weak heart to gain- 
But soon, hy Saranac's command, 
Will Weywin claim Oneyda's hand ; 
A warlike chief — by sire approved, 
Though never by Oneyda loved : , . 

Yet hadst not thou — but hark ! methought . 
My ear the sound of tumult caught ! 
It is ! they find the captive flown ! 
Oh, fly ;— yet stay— ah, yes, begone 
For should Oneyda share thy way, 
'Twould but thy fleeter step delay." 

The tumult rose. — " On, on," she cried, 
." And may my mother's spirit guide." — 
We darted forward through the glade. 
And soon were lost in distant shade — 
Where not a sound came on the wind, , 
To say pursuit was still behind. 

" Here, my Oneyda, rest thy feet, 
No eye will find this far retreat : 
Here on this bank shalt thou repose, 
Shelter'd from sun, secure from foes. 
While o'er thy deep and weary sleep, 
Ontwa shall watchful sentry keep." — 



87 



On flowery bank fatigued she sank, 

Where hunted deer full often drank — 

Perhaps, like us, no longer fearing 

The lost pursuer's reappearing. 

" With thee, young warrior ! thee so near, 

What has Oneyda's heart to fear ? 

My infant ears could scarce rejoice 

When wont to hear a mother's voice ; 

For scarce they caught her note of love, 

Ere her pure soul was borne above : 

But still, methinks, I never hung 

On sweetness of a mother's tongue, 

With half the rapture I incline 

To catch the gentle sounds of thine. 

Oh, when I lived among the crowd. 

Where hundred warriors 'round me bow'd. 

Now giving fruit of hunting toil, 

And now the nobler battle-spoil ; 

When every morn my cabin door 

Vi^as hung with flowers and verdure o'er, 

And bloom of spring and summer's sweet 

Were ofl'er'd at Oneyda's feet ; 

My bosom never knew a bliss — 

It scarce e'er dreamt of joy — like this. 

Here by this still and lonely stream 

My soul shall wake its sweetest dream, 



88 



And when we rise to fly again 
For refuge in some distant plain, 
Oh, may Oneyda's vigour prove 
Firm and unwearied as her love." 

On bed of flowers, by Ontwa made, 

Her drooping charms she gently laid ; 

And oft her slumbers check'd to raise 

A glance that ever met my gaze ; 

Till visions quench'd their quivering light. 

As clouds steal o'er the stars of night. 

Oh ! what a charm to lover's eye 

Have beauties that in slumber lie ! 

When, all confiding, they are given 

To faith, that's watch'd alone by Heaven. 

In trusting innocence she slept, 

While love the sacred vigil kept» 

The trembling lip and heaving breast 
Oft spoke the fears that broke her rest ; 
And oft she'd cry, in dreaming fright, 
" Fly, Ontwa ! why delay our flight? 
Methinks 'tis Weywin's dart I see — 
Its vengeful barb is aim'd at thee." — 
" Sweet sleeper ! calm thy vision's fear ; 
Is not thy watchful warrior near ? 



89 



The forest sleeps beneath the sun, 
The lonely waters calmly run, 
And scarce the insect flutters 'round, 
Lest it should wake thee with its sound. 
Soon as thy broken slumbers end, 
Again our course afar we'll bend, 
Launch our light bark, and refuge take 
In friendlier regions o'er the lake. 
There, where Ohio's waters press 
Their silent way through wilderness. 
And echo, as they wind along, 
Only the bird's or hunter's song, 
On some lone border of the wild, 
I'll shelter thee, thou snowy child!" 

The evening sun, descending low. 
His level beams began to throw 
Beneath the trees, which stretch'd their shades 
Like giant limbs through lengthen'd glades, — 
When, starting from her flowery bed, 
Oneyda wildly raised her head. 
And, still half dreaming, bent her ear 
As if she thought pursuers near. 
'* Ah ! no — 'twas all a dream. But oh ! 
Methought I saw fierce Weywin's bow 
12 



90 



Aiming at thee its vengeful dart : 
It sped, — but struck Oneyda's heart. 
The pang was dreadful, but methought 
I would again the dart have caught, 
Again severer pangs have braved, 
Were life of Ontwa to be saved. — 
But hark ! I hear a step advance ! — 
'Tis he ! — 'Tis Wey win's fiery glance — 
And bended bow" — And to my breast, 
With fatal haste, she frantic prest, — 
Her warning dream, alas ! too true, — 
Just as the vengeful arrow flew i 
Her warm blood o'er my bosom gush'd, 
As from her wound the torrent rush'd, 
While yet her eye, with ray intense, 
Beam'd forth its dying eloquence ; 
And ere the smile had left her cheek, 
Which still of parting love would speak, 
Her soul of snowy hue had flown, — 
And left me in this world alone. 

The day went down on Ontwa's grief. 
He saw nor foeman's tribe nor chief 
Drawn by the signal whoop around, 
As Weywin gave the fatal wound. — 



91 



The victor chief tore oflF his plume : 
His wailing tribe sat down in gloom : 
But chief nor tribe could ever know 
The depth of Ontwa's silent wo. — 
Three days, the murmuring stream pursued 
Its course along the mournful wood, 
Echoing the notes of plaintive song, 
That told the sorrows of the throng — 
When 'neath a willow's drooping shade, 
Within her narrow house, was laid 
The loved Oneyda. * 

* • » 

What now had Ontwa left on earth ?— 
Lonely he rose, and wander'd forth. 

His wand'rings but, of what avail, 

To lengthen out my mournful tale ? — 

Led by the love of one dear name, 

I sought the land of white men's fame, 

And linger'd years about their fires 

Where slept, methought, her mother's sires. 

The stranger world before me rose ; 

But gave no rest to Ontwa's woes. 

I sought the desert wild again ; 

But the rude scenes revived my pain. 



92 



And here my worn and wearied feet 
Have come to seek their last retreat : 
And here I stand — my wither'd grief, 
Hanging hke dry and quivering leaf, 
That waits from heaven but faintest breath, 
To break its hold, and sink m death.' 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



[The following Illustrations of the prece- 
ding work have been extracted from the private 
MSS. of Lewis Cass, Esq. Governor of the Ter- 
ritory of Michigan. It is scarcely necessary to 
inform the public, that he has been for several 
years, ex officio, the superintendent of numerous 
tribes of Indians ; or to recall to mind his recent 
extensive tour to the sources of the Mississippi ; 
in order to give a value and interest to his ob- 
servations on aboriginal subjects. The novelty 
and variety of the facts these illustrations exhibit, 
must render them important to the curious : and 
if they at the same time show, that the work to 
which they are appended — in the descriptive parts 
at least — has received its impressions from reali- 
ties rather than from imagination, they may give 
to it a character higher than that of a mere work 
of fiction.] 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



JVo — Hwas a spirit mild and meek 
That objects less sublime would seek : 
I sought the Indian of the wild, 
Nature'' s forlorn and roving child. 

Page 10, line 16, &c. 
Early and strenuous efforts were made by the 
French to convert the Indians to civilization and 
Christianity. The zealous missionaries of the Ro- 
man Catholic religion carried the cross into the 
most remote regions which were then known. 
Establishments for this purpose were formed at 
Michilimackinac, at L'Arbre Croche, at St. Jo- 
sephs, at Green Bay, and at other places. The 
object was prosecuted with zeal, industry and ta- 
lents, worthy of more permanent success than 
has attended these labours. The difficulties, dan- 
gers and privations, which must have accompanied 
this intense and voluntary devotion of their lives, 
to the moral and physical melioration of our ab- 
original inhabitants, can be fully appreciated by 
those only who are able to form some estimate 
of the condition and character of the country, at 
that early period. There was a generous self-de- 
13 



98 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

votedness in these apostles of Loyola, which no- 
thing could have inspired, but the intensity of their 
zeal and their entire abstraction from all personal 
considerations. To suffer in a valued cause, and 
when surrounded by those who sympathize with 
the martyr, whether he be the victim of religious 
or of political intolerance, does not require the 
strongest effort of human resolution. Cranmer 
and Russell, no doubt, sought and found consola- 
tion in the nature of the causes for which they 
respectively suffered and died. The circum- 
stances of the times had excited their feelings to 
an elevation proportioned to the crisis in which 
each of them was placed, and their martyrdom was 
seen and applauded and lamented by thousands. 
But in the solitude of the forest, removed from 
every trace of civilization, and surrounded by 
ruthless savages, these holy men had no crowds 
of witnesses, no powerful and temporary bursts 
of enthusiasm, no imposing external circumstances, 
to support them in the hour of danger and of death. 
The authentic records of their missionary labours 
show, that they were subjected to every danger 
and privation, which savage malignity could de- 
vise, or which human resignation could endure ; 
and many of them were murdered at the foot of 
the altar. No traces of their laborious exertions 
can now be discovered, in the manners or morals of 
the Indians. The hand of time has swept away 
the teacher and the neophyte ; and nothing now 



ILLUSTRATIONS. \)\f 

remains to show, that the standard of Christiani- 
ty has ever waved amid the dark forests of our 
country. 

The lessons of experience upon this subject are 
too important to be disregarded. In the zealous 
efforts, which are now making, to meliorate the 
condition of the Indians, we have much to learn 
from the history of the progress and result of the 
same experiment, which was made by the Jesuits. 
We cannot bring to the task more fervid zeal, 
more profound talents, more extensive or varied 
acquirements, nor probably a deeper knowledge 
of the principles of human nature. But, so far as 
respects any permanent or valuable impression, • 
they have wholly failed. Very few of the Indians 
profess any attachment to the Christian religion ; 
and of those who make this profession, there is 
not probably one whose knowledge is not confined 
to the imposing rites and external ceremonies of 
the Catholic church. A more vivid impression 
appears to have been made upon the Wyandots, 
than upon any others ; and they preserved, for a 
longer term than any other tribe, traces of the 
indefatigable exertions of their spiritual fathers : 
But even with them, superior as they are in intel- 
lectual endowments, and placed by their local si- 
tuation in contact with a Catholic community, the 
subject is forgotten ; or, if remembered, it is re- 
membered only by a few aged and decrepid per- 



100 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

sons, like other traditionary legends of their na- 
tion. 

Fortunately for the cause of humanity, and for 
the discharge of the great moral debt which 
we owe to this miserable race of beings, deep 
interest has lately been excited upon this import- 
ant subject. A spirit of inquiry has awakened, 
which cannot but produce beneficial results. The 
obligations under which we are placed, as an en- 
lightened and Christian community, to teach our 
wretched neighbours the blessings of civilization 
and Christianity, are universally felt and acknow- 
ledged. We have driven them from the Atlantic 
to the Mississippi. Our forefathers, who landed 
upon this continent, found them numerous, high 
spirited, and powerful. They are now few, de- 
pressed, weak, and miserable. For the fair pos- 
sessions which once were theirs, let us give them 
a more precious inheritance : — a gradual partici- 
pation in those blessings, natural and intellectual, 
civil and religious, which have fallen to our lot. 

There is reason to believe, that the failure of 
the Jesuits was owingto the principles upon which 
their operations were conducted, rather than to 
any intrinsic and insuperable difficulties in the ob- 
ject itself It is easy to teach an Indian to com- 
ply with the external forms of the church ; and he 
may make the sign of the cross, when he has no 
ideas, practical or speculative, upon the moment- 
ous subject which alone gives importance to these 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 101 

ceremonies. Any change, to be permanent, must 
be gradual and general. We must teach the In- 
dians, by their own observations, the value of our 
institutions. We must induce them to abandon 
their present erratic life, and to establish them- 
selves permanently. We must convince them 
that the scanty and precarious subsistence, which 
is now furnished by the chase, will be acquired 
with less toil and more certainty, by the labour of 
agriculture. We must teach them, above all, the 
value of separate and exclusive property— the 
cardinal principle in our own attempts upon this 
subject. In fact their physical and moral improve- 
ment must be contemporaneous : Each will alter- 
nately act as cause and effect. 

If this great cause be placed in proper hands, 
and prosecuted with zeal and judgment propor- 
tioned to its importance, we may safely anticipate 
a successful result. But it must be the work of 
time and labour. It cannot be accomplished speedr 
ily or easily. Inveterate habits must be eradica- 
ted. Strong prejudices encountered, and the feel- 
ings and opinions of a whole race of human beings 
entirely changed, before complete success can at- 
tend our exertions. But, such a bloodless victory 
would be more important to the character of our 
country, than the most sanguinary battle which 
stains the pages of history. 



102 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Through rocky isles, whose bolder forms 
Still chafed and fritter'' d down by storms. 
And, worn to steeps of varying shape 
That architectural orders ape. 
Show ruined column, arch, and niche, 
And waWs dilapidated breach — 

Page 11, line 11, &c. 
Upon the southern coast of Lake Superior, about 
fifty miles from the falls of St. Mary's, are the im- 
mense precipitous cliffs, called by the voyageurs, 
LePortail, and the " Pictured rocks.'''' This name 
has been given to them, in consequence of the dif- 
ferent appearances which they present to the tra- 
veller, as he passes their base in his canoe. It 
requires little aid from the imagination, to discern 
in them the castellated tower, the lofty dome, 
spires and pinnacles, and every sublime, grotesque, 
or fantastic shape, which the genius of architect- 
ure has ever invented. These cliffs are an un- 
broken mass of rocks rising to an elevation of 
three hundred feet above the level of the Lake, 
and stretching along the coast for fifteen miles. 
The voyageurs never pass this coast except in the 
most profound calm ; and the Indians, before they 
make the attempt, offer their accustomed obla- 
tions, to propitiate the favour of their Manitous. 
The eye instinctively searches along this eternal 
rampart for a single place of security : But the 
search is vain. With an impassable barrier of 
rock on one side and an interminable expanse of 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 103 

water on the other, a sudden storm upon the lake 
would as inevitably insure destruction to the pas- 
senger in his frail canoe, as if he were on the brink 
of the cataract of Niagara. The rock itself is a 
sandstone, which is disintegrated, by the continued 
action of the water, with comparative facility. 
There are no broken masses upon which the eye 
can rest and find relief. The lake is so deep 
that these masses, as they are torn from the pre- 
cipice, are concealed beneath its waters until 
they are reduced to sand. The action of the 
waves has undermined every projecting point ; and 
there, the immense precipice rests upon arches, 
and the foundation is intersected by caverns ex- 
tending in every direction. When we passed this 
mighty fabric of nature, the wind was still and 
the lake calm. But even the slight motion of 
the waves, which in the most profound calm agi- 
tates these internal seas, swept through the deep 
caverns with the noise of distant thunder, and 
died upon the ear, as it rolled forward in the 
dark recesses inaccessible to human observation : 
no sound more melancholy or more awful ever 
vibrated upon human nerves. It has left an im- 
pression, which neither time nor distance can ever 
efface. Resting in a frail bark canoe upon the 
limpid waters of the lake, we seemed almost sus- 
pended in air — so pellucid is the element upon 
which we floated. In gazing upon the towering 
battlements which impended over us, and from 



104 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

which the smallest fragment would have destroy- 
ed us, we felt, and felt intensely, our own insig- 
nificance. No situation can be imagined, more 
appalling to the courage, or more humbling to the 
pride of man. We appeared like a small speck 
upon the face of creation. Our whole party, 
Indians and voyageurs and soldiers and officers 
and savans, contemplated in mute astonishment 
the awful display of creative power, at whose base 
we hung : and no sound broke upon the ear, to in- 
terrupt the ceaseless roaring of the waters. — No 
splendid cathedral, no temple built with human 
hands, no pomp of worship, could ever impress 
the spectator with such deep humility, and so 
strong a conviction, of the immense distance be- 
tween him and the Almighty Architect. 

The writer of this article has viewed the falls of 
Niagara, and the passage of the Potomac through 
the Blue Ridge, two of the most stupendous ob- 
jects in the natural features of our country : The 
impression they produce is feeble and transient, 
when compared with that of the " Pictured rocks" 
of Lake Superior. 

When ''mid his chiefs, I saw my sire 
Awake on high the council Jire. 

Page 25, lines 17 and 18. 
No important business is ever transacted by the 
Indrans, without kindling the council fire. This 
ceremony preceded the arrival of the European 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 105 

upon this continent. It doubtless had its origin 
in the convenience, which was thus afforded the 
assembled multitude, for lighting their pipes. 
Their appetite for smoking is strong and invete- 
rate. When those who are to participate in the 
deliberations of the council are convened, the 
great pipe is lighted, and the stem is held up- 
wards, as a mark of adoration to the Great Spirit. 
After this ceremony it is smoked successively, in 
the order of rank, by all who are present : For 
this purpose it is carried by one of the Chiefs to 
every individual, who, without taking hold of the 
pipe with his hands, draws two or three puffs of 
the smoke : The council is then ready to investi- 
gate the business, for which it was convened. The 
Indians have two pipes, which are used upon so- 
lemn occasions : one is the great peace pipe, and 
the other the war pipe. They are severally 
smoked under circumstances sufficiently indicated 
by their names. 

But the words " Council fire" are also used by 
the Indians, metaphorically, to indicate the place 
where their councils are held. Every village has 
its own fire, which is kindled whenever the inhabit- 
ants meet for deliberation. But all the different 
tribes, with whom we are acquainted, north of the 
Ohio and east of the Mississippi, were connected to- 
gether, and had a general Council fire ; which was 
kept by the Wyandots at the mouth of the Detroit 
river. How long they had enjoyed this pre-emi- 

14 



106 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

nence, is doubtful. But the right of convening 
the other tribes to the Council fire, was possessed 
by this nation ; and when application for that pur- 
pose was made by any of the others, the Wyan- 
dots despatched the necessary wampum and to- 
bacco — which are the credentials carried by the 
messengers. Some of the principal Chiefs from 
every quarter attended these councils ; and when 
they met, a fire was kindled by a flint and steel. 
After the council closed, this fire was carefully 
extinguished. All objects, affecting the Indians 
generally, were investigated and determined, upon 
these occasions. But the late war, which pro- 
duced greater changes in the feelings and customs 
of the Indians, than the fifty years preceding had 
made, extended its effects to this institution. The 
council, and its members, and its objects, have dis- 
appeared, and the plough has passed over the site 
of the sacred fire. 

Has filVd my dreams with deep alarms — 
Page 27, line 6. 
The Indians have great confidence in dreams : 
They are considered as the immediate manifesta- 
tions of the will of the Great Spirit ; and it is al- 
most impossible to persuade them to disregard these 
impressions; The most important expeditions are 
sometimes stopped and turned back, by a dream of 
one of the party. In the year 1778, a party of 
about one hundred Chippewa warriors, led by 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 107 

a Chief named Wa-be-gori-a, left Detroit upon a 
war excursion against the infant settlements in 
Kentucky. During the march, warrior after war- 
rior abandoned the party, affected by the dreams 
which they had, or feigned to have ; until the num- 
ber was reduced to twenty-three. When they 
arrived upon the Ohio, they struck a road ap* 
parently much travelled. They watched this 
road some time ; but not meeting with any success, 
they returned, and proceeded one day's march 
towards home. On the evening of this day, a 
British interpreter who was with the party, re- 
monstrated against their return, and urged the 
Chief to remain in the country until they could 
strike the Americans. He dwelt upon topics ob- 
vious to the Indians ; and represented the disgrace 
which would attend an unfortunate expedition. 
The Chief finally consented to refer the question to 
a dream. He prepared himself for the approach* 
ing communication, and in the morning stated that 
the Great Spirit had appeared to him, and had di- 
rected him to watch the road again, until a party 
of the Americans should pass. The Indians re- 
turned with great confidence, stationed themselves 
upon the road, and there remained until a party 
approached — upon whom they fired. They took 
two scalps and three prisoners. 

It was not difficult to perceive that this road 
was daily travelled, and the Chief hazarded little 
in advising his warriors to watch it. The whole 



108 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

plan was probably contrived between him and the 
interpreter, to restore confidence to the dispirited 
party. 

The Indians carry, in a prepared skin called 
natte^ certain objects of worship, known by the 
name of Manitous. These Manitous are the stuff- 
ed skins of young minks, beavers, birds, and 
other animals. They are preserved with great 
care ; and the natte always accompanies the war 
parties. It is carried by the principal Chief, du- 
ring the march ; and at night it is hung upon a pole, 
stuck in the ground on the side towards the ene- 
my. Should any person incautiously pass between 
the natte and the enemy, the whole party would 
instantly return, and nothing would induce them 
to advance. When the Chief is anxious to consult 
the Great Spirit, respecting the result of the ex- 
pedition, or the fate of any of his warriors, he 
sleeps with his head in contact with the natte. In 
this situation his dreams are prophetic. 

It is obvious that the minds of the Indians are 
prepared for these impressions. Fasting, watch- 
ing, long conversations and intense reflection up- 
on the subject, produce the very result of which 
they are in pursuit. They dream because their 
faculties, intellectual and corporeal, are in a state 
of excitement most favourable to such an object. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 109 

ni seek, amid the howling storm, 
The Manitou's appalling form. 

Page 31, lines 5 and 6. 
A full examination of the superstitious notions 
and practices of the Indians, would involve an ex- 
tensive view of their mythology. It is difficult to 
procure accurate information upon the subject ; 
and I think it probable that their own ideas are 
confused, and that the boundaries between the 
power of their good and bad spirits are not dis- 
tinctly marked. They are desirous, upon all im- 
portant occasions, of consulting the spirits, good or 
bad, respecting the result. There is a particular 
order of men, called Wa-be-no, in French — jon- 
gleurs, or (as they are called in English by the 
Canadians) thinkers — who are the medium of com- 
munication for this purpose. These Wa-be-no 
formed a society, which was perpetuated by the 
continued admission of new members. But the 
process of initiation was tedious, and some time 
elapsed before the candidate was admitted to a 
full participation in the benefits and knowledge of 
the society. The Wa-be-no, of all the tribes, had 
a common bond of union, and the principal mem- 
bers met annually near the Spring Wells, upon 
the Detroit river. At this periodical convoca- 
tion, the rites of their order were celebrated with 
feasts and dancing, and the other imposing cere- 
monies which were appropriated to these west- 
ern Eleusinian mysteries. The rank and influ- 



110 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

ence of the diiferent members, were determined 
by their knowledge of these ceremonies, and by 
the visitations which they felt or affected to feel. 
It is probable that fanaticism and hypocrisy had 
each their votaries among these "jongleurs." — ■ 
The process preparatory to initiation, was well cal- 
culated to render them susceptible to the slightest 
impression. The candidate was shut up in a lone- 
some cabin, and was compelled to abstain from all 
food and drink, for many days. What is the ex- 
treme limit of human strength and resolution, in 
this state of total abstinence, I do not know : But 
there is an old Chippewa, now living, who is said 
to have been thus incarcerated for nine days. It 
is not difficult to conceive, that this discipline 
would prepare the youthful mind for strong and 
permanent impressions, and for a sublimation of 
the imagination, which might lead him to mistake 
the reveries of his own excited fancy, for the re- 
velations of an invisible being. It is probable 
that the initiatory ceremonies fortified these im- 
pressions. And it is certain that this order of men 
acquired a preponderating influence over the 
minds of the Indians — An influence, too, which 
was extended to the traders and voyageurs, with 
whom they formerly had intercourse. 

I am unwilling to recount the stories that are 
told upon this subject ; the marvellous nature of 
which prove equally the dexterity of the actors, 
and the credulity of the spectators. Our earlier 



ILLUSTRATIONS. Ill 

writers upon Indian manners detail with great sim- 
plicity these evidences of a communication with 
evil spirits ; and I have heard aged and respecta- 
ble Canadians relate facts which they supposed 
occurred before their own eyes, not less incon- 
sistent with the ordinary operations of nature, than 
with the powers of a superintending Providence. 
These Wa-be-no are not only priests and pro- 
phets, but physicians. In September, 1819, du- 
ring the treaty at Saginaw, Kish-ka-kon, the prin- 
cipal Chief of the Chippewas, was taken sick : 
He was offered medicine and the attendance of our 
physician, but having no confidence in either, he 
declined the offer. He sent for one of these men 
to effect a cure, and I saw him soon after the ope- 
ration. He was afflicted with a chronic rheuma- 
tism, and complained much of a violent pain in his 
side : He told me, however, that the Wa-be-no 
had extracted a part of the disorder, and that 
there was no doubt of a perfect cure. It appear- 
ed that the operator, after many unmeaning cere- 
monies, had applied a hollow bone to the affected 
part, by means of which he pretended to suck out 
the disorder. He possessed the power of regur- 
gitating a small portion of the contents of the sto- 
mach, and this he discharged from his mouth into 
a vessel. His credulous patient believed that it 
was extracted from the seat of the disorder. 

One of these men was sent by a respectable 
Canadian to a gentleman in Detroit, who was dan- 



112 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

geronsly affected by an imposthume in his thigh. 
This man undertook the same process ; but, hav- 
ing around him more acute observers than he had 
before known, his whole operation was easily 
detected. One of his feats, which excited the 
greatest wonder among the Indians, was thrusting 
into his throat a stick twenty-three inches long. 
— Kish-ka-kon was firmly persuaded, that some 
enemy had, as they express it, thrown medicine 
at him — that is, had, by means of the Wa-be-no, 
induced the evil spirit to afflict him. This is a 
very prevailing superstitious notion among the In- 
dians. When they are sick, or any accident hap- 
pens to them, or they are unable to kill an abun- 
dant supply of game, this is the ready solution of 
the diflftculty. 

A few months since, an Indian applied to me for 
some whiskey. I inquired of him for what pur- 
pose he wanted it. He answered, that four years 
before, some person had thrown medicine at him, 
and that he had not been able, since that time, to 
kill any game. He wanted the whiskey to make a 
feast, the sovereign panacea for Indian misfor- 
tunes, and thus to be enabled to resume his em- 
plo}'ment as a hunter. 

The Indians apply, under different circumstan- 
ces, to the good and the bad spirit ; and the cere- 
monies in these different cases, are entirely dis- 
similar. My information does not enable me to 
state with precision, what circumstances deter- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 113 

mine, to whom the apphcation shall he made. 
Generally, however, in all important questions 
affecting the tribe, and in all cases where super- 
natural assistance is required, the application is 
made to the good spirit. Where the object is to 
ascertain a future event, or to discover any thing 
which is lost, the inquirer is sent to the evil spi- 
rit. The same class of men are employed in 
each case ; but no present must be made when the 
good spirit is consulted. Being desirous of see- 
ing the mode in which these tricks are executed, 
I requested one of the Wa-be-no to permit me to 
be present at the ceremony. He assented to my 
request — and was directed to ascertain the situation 
of some article accidentally lost. This farce was 
necessary, as he peremptorily refused to consult 
the evil spirit, unless some question were pro- 
posed for solution. Six stout poles were firmly 
placed in the ground in a hexagonal form. These 
poles were ten feet in height, and the diameter of 
the enclosure was, perhaps, four feet. Round 
these poles, on the outside, a number of blankets 
were stretched, and securely fastened. These 
blankets entirely intercepted the view ; and after 
the Wa-be-no had crawled in, the place of his en- 
trance was shut and he was concealed from obser- 
vation. The ceremony took place at night, and 
it thus became impossible to observe, with any 
accuracy, the progress of the imposture. 

Immediately on his entrance, the poles were vio- 

15 



1 14 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

lently agitated, and he began a monotonous recita- 
tion, which I understood to be an invocation to the 
evil spirit to make his appearance. After some 
time the agitation increased, and we were inform- 
ed that the evil spirit was about to appear. Pro- 
found silence was observed by the surrounding 
spectators, and another voice was heard from the 
lodge. It was then obvious, that the object of 
the Wa-be-no was, to induce his auditory to be- 
lieve the evil spirit was conversing with him. 
For this purpose he changed as much as possible 
the tone of his voice, and spoke at one time close to 
the ground, and at another, at the greatest height 
to which he could attain. The deception was so 
gross, and the whole ceremony so tedious and un- 
interesting, that I retired without waiting for the 
termination. 

When the good spirit is consulted, a feast is 
given, and a dog sacrificed. This dog is hoisted to 
the top of a long painted pole, and left in this situa- 
tion. The Wa-be-no then retires to " think,^^ sit- 
ting down with his head upon his hands, and his el- 
bows resting upon his knees. In this situation, the 
answer of the good spirit is communicated to him. 

Arise, to war — with fellest whoop. 

Page 30, hne 18. 
That peculiar modulation of voice, which con- 
stitutes the " whoop" of the Indians, has long 
been known. It is impossible to give any ade- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 115 

quate idea of this sound, by a written description. 
It is shrill and piercing, and there is a striking ele- 
vation of the voice at the termination of each cry. 
The Indians have at least four different kinds 
of whoops, the object of three of which is to 
communicate intelligence to their villages, as the 
warriors approach on their return from any ex- 
pedition, without the trouble of an immediate ex- 
planation. These whoops are all different, and 
are perfectly understood ; and they convey the de- 
sired information, with as much precision as one 
of our gazettes. 

The whoop of joy is uttered by the warriors 
who return from a triumphant expedition, and in- 
dicates the number of scalps and prisoners they 
have taken. There is a peculiar inflection of it, 
by which the prisoners are distinguished from the 
scalps. The death-whoop designates the number 
of friends who have been killed durmg the expe- 
dition. The whoop of intelligence is uttered by 
a messenger, or other person, who has any thing- 
important to communicate ; and it is used to col- 
lect those who are within hearing, to receive the 
information. 

The war-whoop is designed to strike their ene- 
mies with terror, and to inspire their friends with 
confidence, at the onset of a battle. In the silence 
of the night and in the solitude of the forest, this 
terrific sound is appalling. 

When a party of warriors approaches a friendly 



116 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

village, they give three distinct whoops, either of 
joy or grief, as their situation may require, to 
prepare the inhabitants for attention. After a 
short pause, they give as many separate whoops 
as there are individuals, at whose fate they rejoice 
or mourn. 

At the treaty of St. Mary's, in 1818, a small 
party of Shawanese returned from a war excur- 
sion against the Osages, with a number of scalps. 
Before they reached the treaty ground, they an- 
nounced their success by the whoops of joy, and 
the effect was electric upon the Indians. The 
vast multitude, who were present, rushed out to 
meet the returning warriors. The object ap- 
peared to be to seize the scalps, which were 
borne on poles, from those who carried them, and 
to hasten with them to their camps. I do not 
know whether any peculiar distinction was attach- 
ed to the successful individuals in this strife, but 
certainly more exertions could not have been used, 
nor more zeal exhibited, had the object been to at- 
tack their enemies. Old and young joined the 
throng, and the scalps were snatched from hand to 
hand, and changed owners many times, before they 
reached their destination. 

Whose lengthen'' d trench and mound enseam 
The banks of many a winding stream — 

Page 32, lines 15 and 16. 
The remains of ancient art, which are scatter- 
ed through the western regions, have been the 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 117 

subject of observation since our first knowledge 
of the country. It is doubtful whether much real 
progress has been made in the investigation of 
this interesting inquiry. When, by whom, and 
why, these monuments of human industry were 
erected — are questions which, perhaps, will never 
be satisfactorily solved. The facts in our pos- 
session are not sufficiently numerous, to enable us 
to form even a plausible conjecture upon the sub- 
ject. — Their extent and variety, instead of aiding, 
bewilder us. The labour of their erection is as 
much beyond the power of the present race of 
Indians, as the works themselves are unsuited to 
any purposes to which they could apply them. 
Their construction must have required a degree 
of skill in the plan, and of indefatigable industry 
in the execution, equally incompatible with the 
intellectual acquirements and present habits of the 
Indians. 

These works are scattered through the whole 
valley of the Ohio, and through much of the Mis- 
sissippi country. They are found as far north, 
at least, as Lake Pepin. They are not confined 
to any particular situation. We find them on hills 
and in valleys ; in positions favourable to military 
defence, and in others, where they are complete- 
ly commanded by elevated ground, and where de- 
fence would be impracticable. 

A supply of water has not been deemed an in- 
dispensable requisite. Between Detroit and Chi- 
cago, in the midst of an immense plain, and re- 



118 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

mote from any stream, one of these works yet re- 
mains. There are others similarly situated, with 
regard to water ; and upon the Muskingum there 
are some on the most arid and elevated hills. 

They are found in every state of preservation, 
and decay. In some, the walls are at least fifteen 
feet high, particularly near Newark and Lebanon, in 
Ohio ; and the whole work is as distinct as it was 
upon the day of its completion. Others have al- 
most mouldered away, and it is difficult to distin- 
guish them from natural inequalities of ground. 
Some of them have ditches, and some are without ; 
and these ditches are as often found on the inside 
as on the outside of the walls. There is an ele- 
vated mound in Marietta, enclosed with a wall, and 
having a ditch between the wall and the mound. 
It is impossible that this wall and ditch could have 
been made for any purposes of defence, because 
the elevation of the mound, which occupies the 
whole interior space, would have exposed those 
within to the attack of the assailants. Their form 
is as various as their situation. They are square, 
round, elliptical, hexagonal, and in almost every 
shape which fancy can imagine. 

Their existence is a wonder, to which there is 
nothing comparable in our country. To account 
for their original erection, we are driven to conjec- 
ture, either that another race of men, superior in 
every social and intellectual quality to our pre- 
sent Indians, once inhabited these regions, and 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 119 

were wholly extirpated or expelled ; or that the 
descendants of this people have forgotten the 
most useful arts of life, and have lost all remem- 
brance of their own origin, with all the traditions 
of their ancestors. 

Mr. Atwater, of Circleville, in Ohio, has evinced 
a laudable zeal to collect all the facts upon this 
subject, which now remain. It is to be hoped 
that his exertions will not be fruitless ; but that 
he will be aided by all, who are competent to 
prosecute the investigation. The time is ra- 
pidly passing away when plans and elevations of 
these places can be taken. They will soon dis- 
appear before the plough and the other changes 
of civilization, and we shall regret, when too late, 
that no extensive information has been collected, 
from which some rational induction can be drawn 
respecting these evidences of ancient industry 
which yet withstand the shock of time. 

I have been credibly informed, that among the 
ancient belts preserved by the Wyandots are 
some, which relate to the people who erected 
these works, and to the history of their wars and 
final discomfiture. It is customary among the In^ 
dians to prepare a belt for every important fact, 
interesting to the nation. These belts are pre- 
served with great care among the public archives, 
and are, in fact, the records of their history. 
The traditions are transmitted with great minute- 
aesSj and the belts are not only evidences of the 



120 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

fact, but, by the powers of association, aid the 
memory of those whose duty it is to preserve 
them. If these belts relate to those remote 
events, they were undoubtedly made at the time 
when the events occurred ; and may be consider- 
ed as authentic documents, coeval with the found- 
ation of these works. The tradition is, that they 
were built for the purpose of defence ; and that 
their founders, after many years of sanguinary 
warfare, were expelled, and sought refuge in the 
country southwest of the Mississippi. The pre- 
sent race of Indians claim to be the descendants 
of the conquerors. 

Lest thou shouldst fail the feast to share ^ 
Our gathering bands will soon prepare — 
Page 35, lines 5 and 6. 
A feast generally concludes every important 
ceremony in which the Indians engage. Their 
war and hunting excursions, their councils, their 
funerals and marriages, are all accompanied by 
the appropriate feast. Some of these feasts are 
given by individuals, who generally invite the 
whole village. Others are at the common ex- 
pense, and all who participate, brmg some part of 
the provisions. 

When a man gives an entertainment of this na- 
ture, it is expected that his guest will eat all the 
provisions which are placed before him. Fortu- 
nately for the preservation of this rule, there pro- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 121 

bably never was a race of men better qualified for 
the observance of such a custom. Their appetite 
is voracious, and their powers of eating beyond 
any example known among civilized nations. 

I saw a feast among the Sioux, upon the Mis- 
sissippi, from which the guests retired backwards, 
carrying with them their dishes filled with victuals. 
— I could not learn the meaning of this ceremony. 

For stern composure^ full of thought^ 
Had to his mien submission taught, 
And bliss or wo pass''d oUr his mind. 
Nor light nor shadow left behind. 

Page 57, line 15, &c. 
The indifference of the Indians to external cir- 
cumstances, is a prominent trait in their character. 
This indifference is habitually acquired, and is 
similar in its effects to the stoical fortitude of an- 
tiquity. It is not alone in pain and grief, that any 
display of their feelings is suppressed. The gen- 
tler aflfections of the heart, although powerfully 
felt, are yet carefully concealed. When an Indian 
returns, after considerable absence, to his family, 
he affects to be cold and careless, and he suffers 
much time to elapse before he enters into familiar 
conversation. I have seen intimate friends, after 
a long separation, meet and pass each other like 
strangers. They have none of the courtesies of 
life ; nor do they affect, by a cordial salutation, an 
attachment which they do not feel. 
16 



122 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

This abstraction from the effect of external cir- 
cumstances, accompanies them in every situation of 
life. An Indian bears pain with fortitude, he faces 
danger without fear, and meets death with calm- 
ness. His character and importance depend not 
only on active courage, but also on this patient re- 
signation to adverse circumstances, and this calm 
contempt of untoward events. That man has ob- 
served human nature with a careless eye, who has 
not discovered, how much more rare the latter 
quality is, than the former. 

JVow gathers round the warlike throng. 
Prepared for feast and dance and song. 

Page 68, lines 7 and 8. 

When circumstances have inclined the minds of 
the Indians to war, a Council is convened, in which 
the subject is fully investigated, and finally deter- 
mined. After the war is declared, the authori- 
ty of the village or peace Chiefs entirely ceases, 
and the power is transferred to the war Chiefs. 

Their government, if government it may be call- 
ed, is one of opinion only. No direct authority is 
ever exerted ; and their war expeditions are com- 
posed of volunteers, who join and leave the party 
at their pleasure. When it is determined to under- 
take an expedition, all the warriors are assembled, 
and a feast is prepared. The principal Chief then 
takes his tomahawk, or war club, upon which the 
head of an enemy is sculptured, and begins to 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 123 

move. Sometimes, however, a war belt, made for 
this purpose, is carried. The tomahawk, or club, 
is held in a threatening position, and the Chief 
slowly passes in front of every individual, singing, 
as he moves, his war song. This war song is not 
the usual boasting recapitulation of their exploits, 
which is occasionally made by the warriors in their 
dances — and which is a mere recitation, without 
any attempt at harmony. The words of the song 
are strictly adapted to the music. The sentiment, 
in all the songs, is a mere repetition of a few lead- 
ing ideas, and is constantly renewed in the pro- 
gress of the Chief — who marches to the time of 
his own music. 

The following specimens will convey to the 
reader a general notion of these songs. (They 
were actually sung upon important occasions.) 
" I will kill— I will kill— the Big Knives, I will kill." 
" Ne-gau-ne-saw — ne-gau-ne-saw — Kichi-mau-le- 
sa, ne-gau-ne-saw." 

The Indian words in this song are Miami. 

" 1 will go and get my friends — I will go and get 
my friends. I am anxious to see my enemies — I 
am anxious to see my enemies. A clear sky is 
my friend, and it is him I am seeking." 

' A clear sky' is a metaphorical expression, and 
conveys to an Indian the same ideas which are 
conveyed to us by the words, good fortune. 

The manner in which these words are sung can- 



124 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

not be described to the reader. There is a strong 
expiration of the breath at the commencement of 
each sentence, and a sudden elevation of the voice 
at the termination. The Chief, as he passes, looks 
every person sternly in the face : Those who 
are disposed to join the expedition, exclaim Yeh, 
Yeh, Yeh, with a powerful tone of voice ; and this 
exclamation is continually repeated during the 
whole ceremony. It is, if I may so speak, the 
evidence of their enlistment. Those who are si- 
lent, decline the invitation. 

After the Chief has procured as many volunteers 
as possible, he delivers the tomahawk to another 
Chief. The latter then repeats the same process. 
Particular prejudices or partialities may induce 
the warriors to follow one Chief in preference to 
another ; and efforts are therefore made by all, to 
increase the strength of the party. The whole 
ceremony is terminated by a general feast. 

In the year 1776, during the administration of 
Lieutenant Governor Hamilton at Detroit, a large 
number of Indian warriors were assembled, in or- 
der that they might be induced to co-operate with 
the British in the war, which had then commenced. 
They were drawn up in two lines, extending from 
the river to the woods : their kettles and fires 
were between the lines. An ox was killed, and his 
head cut off : a large tomahawk was then struck 
into the head, and thus loaded, it was presented to 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 125 

the Governor : He was requested to sing his war 
song along the whole line of the Indians. 

The ox's head represented the head of an Ameri- 
can ; and as the British were the principals in the 
war, it was necessary for them to take up the to- 
mahawk first. The Lieutenant Governor was 
embarrassed by the novelty of his situation, and 
by his own ignorance of the language and songs of 
the Indians. He was extricated, in a manner 
equally happy and ludicrous, by his Interpreter. 
The latter instructed his superior to sing the fol- 
lowing words, in French : 

Q,uand j'irai a la guerre-ruh 
J'emporterai ma grand cuillere-ruh. 

The monosyllable at the end of each line, is 
only intended to mark the elevation of the voice, 
and the prolongation of the last syllable. 

These words corresponded with the necessary 
tune, and were sung with all the gravity and dig- 
nity suited to the occasion. As the Lieutenant 
Governor passed the immense assemblage, he 
sung his song and fixed his eyes upon the Indians, 
who made the air resound with their cries of Yeh^ 
Yeh, Yeh. They concluded, of course, that the 
great warrior was threatening with dreadful ven- 
geance, the Big Knives, the rebellious children of 
their British father. 

The second officer in command. Major Hayes, 
was relieved by a similar expedient. The inge- 
nious Interpreter composed the following song, 



126 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

which possessed the same advantage of an ac- 
companiment to the music. 

J'ai le talon, au bout du pied. 

The ordinary war dance is peculiarly appropri- 
ate at the departure of the warriors upon any ex- 
pedition, or upon their return : but it is used at 
all times, by the young men, as an exercise and 
amusement. When they are disposed to under- 
take this dance, they strip themselves almost na- 
ked, and paint their faces and bodies agreeably to 
the taste of every individual. It is probable that 
this custom had its origin in a desire to strike 
terror into their enemies, by the horrible alter- 
nations of light and shade, with which they are 
daubed. The imagination cannot draw a strong- 
er picture of the inhabitants of the infernal re- 
gions, than is presented by these dances. Every 
person holds in his hands a weapon ; and their 
heads are adorned with a great display of feathers 
and other appropriate ornaments. Hollow cylin- 
ders of wood, resembling drums — covered with 
dressed skin at one end, are beat for the purpose 
of marking time. 

Their mode of dancing is, by continually jump- 
ing up and down, sometimes in the same place, 
and sometimes advancing. Their muscular exer- 
tion, upon these occasions, is great : Every limb, 
and almost every muscle, are in action ; and the 
whole frame is in a continued state of tension. 
They keep time with perfect precision, and no 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 127 

eye can detect the slightest variation. They 
brandish their weapons in every direction ; and I 
have been often surprised that accidents do not 
occur, on such occasions. Knives and toma- 
hawks are aimed with apparently fatal precision ; 
but are turned with great dexterity, before they 
inflict the threatened wound. Every warrior con- 
tinually repeats the well known sound Yeh, in the 
most forcible manner. 

After they have danced some time — one of them 
steps to a post, previously secured in the ground 
for this purpose, and violently strikes it with his 
weapon. Instantly the music, and the exclama- 
tions, and the dancing, cease ; and every warrior 
is prepared to hear a tale of " daring." The per- 
son who has struck, then recounts his exploits. 
He speaks with great emphasis and violent gesti- 
culation, — describes the number of the enemy 
whom he has killed ; the mode in which he ac- 
complished it, and the dangers he encountered. 
He relates the most minute circumstances, and 
shows the manner in which he crept silently upon 
his enemy, and took aim at his heart. He exhi- 
bits his scars, and relates the occasions upon 
which he received them. 

After he has concluded, all the Indians present 
give a general shout, to testify their admiration of 
his prowess. The dance then recommences, and 
is again interrupted in a similar manner. 



128 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The star of day was just descending — 

Page 72, line 1. 

The hostile attacks of the Indians are almost 
always made in the night ; and generally a short 
time before day. They are not as vigilant and 
watchful in defence, as they are in attack. No- 
thing can exceed the caution and silence with 
which they move, and they frequently enter their 
enemy's camp before the latter is apprized of 
their approach. The melancholy catastrophe, 
which closed the campaign of General St. Clair, 
in 1791, is matter of historic record. About day- 
light he was attacked by the Indians ; and after a 
feeble and desultory resistance, his army was dis- 
persed or destroyed. General Harrison narrow- 
ly escaped the same fate at Tippecano ; and he 
owed his success to his own skill and experience, 
and to the valour and discipline of his troops. 

The effect of this mode of attack upon men 
suddenly awakened from profound sleep, may 
be readily appreciated. The stillness and soli- 
tude of the night are interrupted by the Indian 
war-whoop — one of the shrillest and most terrific 
sounds that can be imagined : at the instant of 
uttering this horrible yell, which is well calcula- 
ted to dismay their enemy, the assailants com- 
mence their attack ; and this sound is heard above 
the ordinary accompaniments of the battle. 

When we review the peculiar adaptation of 
their tactics to the description of their forces, 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 129 

and to the nature of their warfare, it is certainly 
surprising that their campaigns have not generally 
terminated more successfully. To an intimate 
knowledge of the theatre of operations, they join 
ceaseless caution, great personal intrepidity, a 
power of enduring the extremes of fatigue and 
hunger, which rarely fall to our lot, and all 
those " circumstances of war," which are calcu- 
lated to inspire them with confidence, and to de- 
press the spirit of their enemies. But they have 
no combination in their movements : their at- 
tacks are, in fact, the efforts of individuals : and 
the authority of their Chiefs is feeble and use- 
less. That result of discipline and subordination, 
which renders every combatant an effective part 
of one great machine, is wholly unknown to them, 
— and their operations are thus without concert in 
the plan, and without union in the execution. 

And tinged the pile with gloomy light, 
Which stood before the captive'^ s sight. 

Page 77, lines 17 and 18. 
And thus, amid the insulting throng, 
Raised high and hold his victim song. 

Page 78, lines 9 and 10. 
The custom of sacrificing prisoners by the In- 
dians to their own baleful passions, is well known ; 
and the instances of this shocking ceremony are 
numerous and authentic. A small proportion of 
the captives, however, are thus murdered : Many 
of them are adopted into different families, to 
17 



130 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

supply the loss of deceased relatives, and are 
treated, in every respect, like the natural mem- 
bers of the family. — But when an important Chief 
is killed, or when the surviving relatives of a war- 
rior who has fallen in battle are anxious to re- 
venge his death, an unfortunate captive is select- 
ed for this sacrifice. 

These devoted victims of savage cruelty are 
usually burned at the stake. Among the Miamis, 
a hoop is passed round the neck, and fastened to 
a cord, which is tied to another hoop connected 
with a post. This post is firmly secured in the 
ground ; and the limbs of the unfortunate sufferer 
are free. Fires are kindled on four sides of the 
post — and the Indians, with lighted hickory bark, 
compel the wretched being to move round this 
infernal apparatus of cruelty and death. Hours 
are thus spent in this scene of torment, until hu- 
man nature sinks exhausted ; or until some Indian, 
more humane, or more strongly excited than the 
others by the keen and boastful death-song of the 
sufferer, terminates by a sudden stroke, his suf- 
ferings and their persecutions. Among the Kick- 
apoos, a frame is built, to which the captive is at- 
tached by his hands and feet ; and he thus slowly 
perishes without the power of motion. 

Examples of the most heroic fortitude have 
been exhibited under these awful circumstances. 
The Indians appear to be prepared to suffer pain 
with indifference, as well as to inflict it without 
mercy. In whatever situation they may be placed, 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 131 

whether as persecutors or as sufferers, their 
spirit is excited to the highest point of elevation. 
It is the object of the one party to torment with 
the greatest ingenuity, and to protract, to the last 
hour, the death of the victim. The other sings 
his death -song, and exhibits his contempt for his 
enemies by every reproachful epithet, and by 
every provoking tale : He recounts the number 
of their warriors whom he has killed in battle ; of 
their women and children whom he has murder- 
ed ; and of the injuries, insults, and cruelties, he 
has inflicted upon their nation. His song is com- 
monly interrupted by the tomahawk of some in- 
dignant foe. 

In the year 1774, a war party of the Kicka- 
poos made an irruption into the country of the 
southern Indians. A prisoner was taken, and 
sentenced to be burned. The sentence was exe- 
cuted on the Vermilion river ; and I have been 
told, by a person present, that a more striking ex- 
ample of fortitude, and of elevated feelings, can- 
not be imagined. He appeared wholly abstract- 
ed from all corporeal sufferings. And though the 
pain must have been intense and exquisite, from 
the fierce zeal displayed by his enemies to con- 
quer his proud spirit, yet not a word, look, nor 
motion, evinced the slightest regard to his own si- 
tuation. I cannot persuade myself to give the 
details, of this horrible contest between the power 
to inflict and the capacity to suffer. The captive 
sung his death-song in the loudest and fiercest 



132 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

strain, and repeatedly gave the whoop of joy, 
which is exclusively appropriated to the conquer- 
ing warrior. His resolution finally triumphed ; 
for one of his enemies, frantic with passion, shot 
him through the heart. 

During our revolutionary war, a father and son 
were taken prisoners by the Miamis, in some 
part of Kentucky. The father was advanced in 
years, and the son on the verge of manhood. 
The latter was burned at Massisinneway. When 
the sentence was communicated to the unfortunate 
captives, the father entreated that he might die 
for his son : But his request was refused, and the 
interesting young man bore the torments of his 
enemies more than three hours, in the presence 
of his father. ****** 

Thanks to the knowledge of our feelings and 
institutions, which the Indians have acquired, this 
horrible custom has nearly disappeared. Their 
own manners have become meliorated by their 
contact with us. During the late war, instances 
of savage cruelty were frequent and atrocious ; 
and the awful catastrophe at the River Raisin, in 
which, however, to the disgrace of Christianity 
and civilization, the guilt does not attach to them 
only, has long since been disclosed to our country 
and to the world. But I have not heard that any 
prisoners were burned ; nor were they often 
murdered, after the passions excited by the bat- 
tle had time to subside. Connected with these 
barbarous sacrifices, a singular and shocking m- 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 133 

stitution existed among the Miamis and Kickapoos, 
to which no parallel can be found among the 
other tribes, nor, perhaps, in the whole record 
of human depravity. A society existed, called 
"the man-eaters," whose duty it was to eat any 
prisoners, devoted to this horrible purpose by 
those who captured them. This society was co- 
eval with the earliest traditions of either tribe ; 
and the institution was associated with religious 
sentiments, and with feelings of reverence in the 
minds of the Indians. Its members belonged to 
one family, called " the bear," which, however, 
included many individuals. They were admitted 
into the society by a secret and solemn initiation, 
and with many imposing ceremonies. This right, 
or duty, for I cannot ascertain in which light the 
admission was viewed, extended to males and fe- 
males ; and the whole number, at the period to 
which my information relates, was about twenty. 
But I am ignorant whether there was any limita- 
tion of number, except by the exclusion of indi- 
viduals from the sacred family. 

On ordinary occasions, when a prisoner is sa- 
crificed, it is done to gratify the revenge of the 
near relations of a fallen warrior : But when 
these relatives are strongly excited, either in con- 
sequence of the natural strength of their passions, 
or of a peculiar attachment to the deceased, or of 
any uncommon circumstances attending his death, 
the prisoner is then sentenced to a specific death 
and to be delivered to the " Man-eaters." They 



134 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

take possession of him, and execute him in con- 
' formity with the sentence. After being delivered 
to them, there is no power to ransom him ; His 
fate is irreversibly fixed. 

In the year 1780, an American captive was sa- 
crificed at Fort Wayne. There were ten men 
and three women, members of the society, pre- 
sent, who conducted the ceremony. An effort was 
made by the traders to save the life of the victim : 
Goods to a considerable value were offered for 
this purpose, but in vain. At the commencement 
of the preparations, another messenger was sent 
with a quantity of spirits, the most valuable arti- 
cle, which could be offered to effect the object. 
He barely escaped with his life from the fury of 
the society, who were thus interrupted in their 
duties by unwelcome importunities ; and the spirits 
were instantly spilt upon the ground. After the 
prisoner was dead, his body was carried to a re- 
tired camp, cut up, and boiled. It was then eaten 
by the members of the society. The cooking 
utensils, and other articles used upon these occa- 
sions, were kept in a small separate lodge, and 
were never used for any other purpose. 

One of the members of this society, called 
" White Skin," an influential Miami Chief, is yet 
living. But the institution itself has disappeared ; 
and such is the change in the feelings of the In- 
dians upon these subjects, that he is sometimes 
reproached with this connexion, formerly so much 
venerated and respected. It has been stated that 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 135 

the celebrated Chief, Little Turtle, was active in 
the abolition of this horrible practice. Such an 
exertion was in unison with his character and 
principles. 

There is no doubt, however, but that the gene- 
ral feelings of the age are gradually making their 
way into the fastnesses of the Indians, and that 
these feelings have principally contributed to this 
happy result. Cannibals have doubtless existed 
in certain ages and nations of the world : And 
although the details of the practice are involved 
in some obscurity, yet the leading facts are indis- 
putable. But, probably, no particular body of men 
was ever before set apart for this purpose, and 
required to devour a miserable being, in order that 
the revenge of bereaved friends might be more 
exemplary. It is an atrocious refinement of ven- 
geance, to which the history of the world may be 
challenged for a parallel. 

It may be regretted that there are no tradition- 
ary accounts of the institution of this society. We 
are utterly at a loss to conjecture how it was esta- 
blished, why, and by whom. But its history is lost 
in the lapse of ages, and all that is left for us is, 
while we explore the facts which now remain, to 
rejoice at the gradual melioration which is taking 
place in the manners and feelings of the Indians. 

[Since the foregoing memorandum of the Man- 
eating society was made, the following more mi- 



136 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

nute particulars have been received from the pre- 
sent principal Chief of the Miamis. 

The general name of the family, to which the 
society is exclusively confined — the name which 
it has always borne — is Ons-e-won-sa. The word 
has no precise or known meaning. The name of 
the present head of the family is Am-co-me-we- 
au-kee, or the Man-eater ; whose family, in all its 
branches, now consists of fifteen or twenty mem- 
bers. The succession is continued in the male 
line ; and the eldest male living is always the head. 
There is no ceremony of initiation : no extrane- 
ous members can be admitted : the members are 
born into the society, and have no choice but to 
inherit its atrocious privileges. When a victim 
is selected, his face is painted black ; and, after he 
has been given up to the society, his fate is ir- 
revocable. New utensils must be provided for 
every new sacrifice. Every member of the so- 
ciety is bound in duty to partake of the horrible 
repast, — infants and all ; but, although public, 
no other person dares profane the sanguinary ce- 
remony. During, or at the conclusion of the 
feast, the head repeats, for the instruction of the 
younger members, its tradition and its duties. — 
The Chief above alluded to, says, that the society 
is now seldom mentioned, and a disuse of its prac- 
tices for more than thirty years, has obliterated al- 
most every thing connected with it, excepting its 
name and its members.] 






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